Lorca in Califi~rnia<br >I SONG OF TIlE STATE TROOPI RS<br >Blue are the cycles，<br >Dark bluc the hehncts.<br >The blue sleeves shine<br >With the rainbmvs of oil slicks，<br >And xvh~ thcy don t cry is<br >Their hearts are leather，<br >Their skulls are hard plastic.<br >They come up the roads.<br >By night they come，<br >Hunched over headlamps，<br >Leaving behind them<br >A silence of rubber<br >And small fears like beach sand<br >Ground underheel.<br >I.ook， concealcd by their helmets<br >The vague outlines<br >Of pistols are fi)rming.<br > They go by--let them pass!<br >0 tmvn of the moonflowcr，<br >Preserve of the orange<br >And the burst guava，<br >l~et them pass!<br >2 SONG OF TIlE HOURS<br >Three cyclists pass under<br >Christina s window.<br >Hmv |:ar out shc leans!<br >But tonight she ignores<br >