To Our Lady, the Queen of the Angeles
Los Angeles, city of post-war urban sprawl,
Asphalt to the Pacific, beneath imported palms.
Diversity of style, melting pot of the West,
Ethnic districts separated by boulevard traffic congestion.
Aspiration, gigantic, forget about the east,
Unique if you know it, terrifying if don’t.
Hollywood, not always a place, but now
Reinvented, better than before, came for
Health, died of smog.
Riots, gangs, graffiti, and excess.
Drugs, booze and the Sunset Strip.
Heated pools, sprinkled lawns, fancy cars, and credit card debt.
Views of lights, perched atop, canyons,
Fill, mountains, overpriced sky scrapers,
Valleys and insipid accusations.
Earthquakes of change, anything goes,
Discarded waste of yester year, junk to some,
Treasure to others.
Garish culture, culture of its own,
Beauty is best, it’s all a set.
Spanish heritage, Latin American present tense,
Lady, she’s not even a she.
Angel and Senora neither, eternal youth.
City of ours, in dreams, sometimes real.
Written by Karl Gerber Los Angeles, California
Audio of Poem
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