Playa Poem by Percy Dovetonsils

Not the friendliest neighborhood.
People come to these hills
to get away from other people.

So don't expect
a hello back
if you say hello.

Though some,
like Motorcycle John,
who's constantly battling
gophers
in his tiny yard,
will surprise you
with a hearty hello
and even conversation.

First he tried traps,
then drowning.
But it looks like
poison
is the P-bomb
which will force
their unconditional surrender.
I congratulate him
and move on.

Just around the corner
is the red wooden house
where Kanye West's mother
died
of plastic surgery
gone south.

Plenty of other ghosts, too.
Howard Hughes
kept a mistress
in the two story sienna
to the north
and down the hill
from it
is the bustling cathouse
which catered
to sailors
and roughnecks
a century ago.

To the south
Carmen Miranda
sang and danced
under her fruity crown,
and half a block further south
Cecil B. DeMille
planned his epics.

As I loop home,
8 tiny metal cars
sit atop a low wall.
"Take one, " offers a sign.
They're probably for kids,
but I take one anyway.
It may give me
corona 19,
but it's as friendly
as a hello back.