Ode To L.A.

I listened to the sound
of gravel, shifting beneath
the wheels of the car,
and took:

One last gasp
of L.A. air,
One last look
at L.A. towers,
One last picture
of a L.A. landscape,
One last pause,
for L.A. traffic,
One last Hurrah,
For L.A. Dodgers
One last sip
of L.A. orange juice
One last search
for L.A. Movie stars, hotels, plazas, and board games.
One last romp,
through L.A. fields
One last feel, for L.A. grass, textured to a blade, greener than the desert, brighter than the trees, squarer than the spectacles on my Uncle’s face, Hotter than Hot sun, on Hot Women, on Hot Cars.
Somehow,
the grass,
grows greener
in L.A.

The car pulled out,
I pulled out,
my battered CD player.
I listened to:

Punk,
Rock
Music.

Motion
City
Soundtrack.


The seams on the baseball, were tighter,
in L.A.
The smell of suburbs, and dirt, were stronger
in L.A.
The volume of voices, were louder,
in L.A.
The theme parks, more expensive, and the food more delicious in L.A. The High Ways,
More Expansive<>
In L.A.
8 Lanes Of Traffic For 100,000 Cars In L.A.
The Cousins Were Cuter In L.A.
The Wiffle Ball was lighter,
In L.A.
My asthma.
Was gone,
In L.A.

I was sad to leave.
I was sad to kiss,
The windowpanes of a
Foreign house good-bye.
And, once again,
Settle into the nylon covered
Seats, of a Pontiac
Vibe.

I guess,
The Trip
Was Worth It.