Farther than a plane could travel,
or at least a plane we could afford,
with two twenties and some change between us.
We sold everything that was worth anything,
which wasn't much: a grandfather clock,
no longer chiming; that rhinestone ring
that I found in the sand, and the old guitar
you always used to drag around.
It wouldn't play a chord anyhow,
though I suppose you could have had it tuned
with the money from the ring.
Don't tell me California's overrated.
It's not comforting, even to me,
with no chance of getting there.
I've heard that it rains diamonds,
and that the people don't even care.
