Poetry Corner:


ONE FOR THE ROAD

Hunter S. Thompson,
Rest In Peace?
That doesn't seem right;
I'd like to think
he'll shake things up
In the next world
as well

Every day above ground
he cheated death;
who knows, even here
he may have left
the bony bastard feeling
shortchanged.

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The Blue Line, again;
dismal commute visually
few things excepted:

The L.A. River
often a mere trickle, but
today, in the rain

Raging, swollen brown
the muddy torrent bobbing
white bits of rubbish

The switchyard, where trains
wait to be sent forth again--
like heaven for them?

Spray-painted, the word
'GODZ' on a bridge near Compton;
surely a gang name?

It seems unlikely
the Ohio metal band
would be known out here

And I imagine
that a true polytheist
would spell the word right

After rain, perhaps
or a holiday, the sky
gets a break from smog

Then, and only then,
to the northeast we can see
snow capped mountains

Ah, the Watts Towers
of Simon Rodia, the
best part of the trip

Mythic seeming, yet
part of an urban landscape;
Rodia's home, once

I like to fit them
into the book I'm reading
as we pass them by

Still, unknowable;
we know who made them and when;
his motives? Less clear

Why did he build them--
but: why anything? Might as
well pester Mozart

The senior center
is next, with a rose garden
the rest is all crap

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Four Haiku:

The debt we owe to
Japan: sushi, Iron Chef;
not the least, haiku

LIVE NUDE GIRLS ON STAGE
GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS XXX, the
hot pink neon blinks

Sartre said Hell is
other people; probably
rode the bus a lot

The bartender has
a thick irish brogue; bet he
gets lots of pussy