Ode to L.A.

How are you today, my L.A. Friends?

Are you bathed in sunlight
and draped in orange blossoms?

Are you starting the day with a run?
Shirtless, sweat-dappled and
obnoxiously fit?

Are you having lunch at the Farmer's Market?

Are you eating fish tacos?

Are you tackling the 10,
stuck in first
and wondering why
you didn't just take Olympic or Pico
(even though
they probably wouldn't have been any
faster)?

Are you taking the Laurel Canyon shortcut back over the hill?

Are you talking shop at the Coffee Bean?

Are you drinking solo at Frolic Room?

Or with friends at Delancey?
Sitting in the early evening breeze,
smoking a cigarette
and watching the sun set over Sunset?

Are you playing tennis in Griffith Park?

Are you tearing up a parking ticket in Silver Lake?

Are you wandering a supermarket in North Hollywood,
lamenting that you never learned Spanish?

Are you leaving the bar two hours earlier than you should have to?

Are you sitting in line at the Taco Bell drive-thru at 2am?
(And taken aback by the
inexplicably friendly service?)

Are you driving tipsy?

Are you praying for rain?

Are you dodging dog shit in Runyon Canyon?

Are you at the Arclight?
(Oh, the Arclight…)
And did you pick your seat?
(Oh, the Arclight…)
And having an utterly pleasant movie-going experience?
(Oh, the Arclight…)

Are you topping it off with some In'n'Out?
And doing it animal style?

Are you at Amoeba?
Spending more than you said you would?

Are you driving all the way to Culver City?
Just for Honey’s Kettle biscuits?

Are you cruising the PCH?
Listening to rock and roll,
windows down,
singing at the top of your lungs?

Did you stop at a crab shack on the side of the road?

Are you ending the day on the Venice boardwalk?

Are you drinking Tecate and lime over ice?

Are you taking the beach for granted?

Are you meeting people you'll never see again?
Are you meeting people you may one day call “friends”?

Are you flirting with a bass player?

Are you missing New York?

Are you full of hope?

Are you tan?

Are you calm?

Do you have troubles like the rest of us,
but everything's still pretty much
all right?

Is this you?
Was that me?

Sitting on a porch in Queens,
Weeks and miles removed,
it's hard to tell.

You were only supposed to be a
mistress.

You were only supposed to be a
fling.

You turned me upside down
because I asked you to.

And left me on my head.


-IMBA, Sep. '09