Three Los Angeles Poems

Joshua Baldwin


You walk a broad circle through these heat waves
and fill your horn with tickets and cigars.

Our boy is a port cop, real intellectual type.
Writing a script about him, the bell rings.

Frauds come and go, speaking of San Bernardino.
Under a graphite awning the palm trees bristle.


This coastline has been displaced
for as long as I can remember.

I collect my jerseys and donate them
to the seagulls of Burbank.

Malibu is in the other direction.


He owns a good number of cars
and a small Coke factory.

He works for the rodeos,
and uses a harmonica for a mailbox.

In reality he runs a blue jeans company
based out of San Jose.