Prayer

by Margaret Young

Merced your playgrounds fill with ghosts,
pipes and ditches suck Sierra snowmelt down
to green your lawns and rows of palm trees.
Merced, behind your fences dogs are screaming,
your fruit ripens and falls and rots, Merced,
your gardens teem with oleander, roses and lilies,
your telephone poles crazy with ivy, honeysuckle.
Have mercy on your minivans and soccer fields, Merced,
your malls are sweet with girls swinging ponytails,
drinking bubble tea and giggling, straws plunged
among the wet black pearls, your plazas run with blood
as boys collapse next to the 99 Cent Store
and the Save Mart, shot for some color,
for wearing or being the wrong one.