Lost California

You miss the blondes.
They were everywhere,
every shade,

like the sunlight everywhere,
glinting off sunglasses
and shining off teeth
and hair that hair
miles and miles of hair
hair with rippling waves
wheat colored

Hair in the wind
as the blondes stand up
through the sunroofs of their cars
while the other blondes drive
down the freeway.

You miss the freeways.
That was when you liked to drive.
Driving with your long blond hair
through those sweet blond hills
driving with the hot wind
and the sound of the grass.

Your left shoulder getting burned
because you always prop your elbow
on the open window
and steer casually with finger.

You miss how the wind
would pull your skirt
up your thighs when you drove.

You miss driving the same streets
nowhere
over and over again

and seeing the same hills with the same
round oaks
over and over again
under the same sun.

The same smell of smoke, grass
and sunscreen.

You miss that smell
and that drive,
that drive that never
ended in California