Hollywood Nocturne

BY DAVID BAXTER

Mostly, you drive.

LAX. Sepulveda, Franklin
La Cienega, Hollywood and Vine
And the mother of them all,
West on Sunset.
Into legends and promises.

You drive.
Amid the camellias, and the bougainvilleas
And the starlets, and the billboards
and the scrub grass along the freeways.

Amid the dollars.
The many go to the few
The few go to the many.

Mostly, you drive.

Up the coast highway.
Malibu, baby. Castles on sticks.
Simi valley. Castles in the sticks.
And trailers in messy rows.
Full of secrets, half-truths and tired dreams.

There, and back again.
Into the land of legends and promises.

Amid the dollars.
The many go to the few
The few go to the many.
And no one knows you unless they need to.
And then only briefly.

You drive past squalor
And splendor
Big hair
And bigger spenders
Giant white teeth everywhere
And valet parking.

Amid the dollars.
The many go to the few
The few go to the many.
And no one knows you unless they need to.
And then only briefly.

Mostly, you drive.