there are certain things that stick,
San Gabriel Valley things,
that sink
into a poem…
this is a drink
and a cheers
for a moment in time,
I want to leave behind—
Valley Blvd., 605 duck farm, Bassett, unincorporated “town,”
in or near or alongside La Puente
which translates to Bridge,
and known among the locals
as Bridgetown…
It’s not complicated,
you live in a place and that place loses its grace or it holds it in place,
and you stay like a battered wife stays
trying to hold space
you can criticize me or this town
I do it all the time,
and if you’re from there,
you know that
the words you say
I’ll make you swallow down—
meet me on the corner of Amar and,
no, the railroad tracks on Valley Blvd.,
by the McDonald’s,
where the largest stretch of strip bars live,
where the Satanists have parties
for their 18th birthdays—and you’re invited
taco stands,
like any other town,
only in this town it hits different,
goat meat tacos on June 6, 2006
…in it are ghosts in the parking lots of churches,
where you park and
watch a woman give head to a man
more than likely
not her husband
as you listen to BAUHAUS with a boy who looks like Steven Tyler,
only gangster…
you take a hit of nasty, brown, dry weed,
Steven Tyler smiles at you
and you think he’s cute
but he’s boring
and I’m on hold from my dreams,
so fuck it,
enjoy it
your purple gel pager goes off,
626-337-8541—911—411
I call him from the payphone in front of Chris’s burgers,
Puente and Amar,
if you know
YOU KNOW
nothing serious, just faggot shit—
He lives on Ragus St., your best friend,
“Ragus is sugar backwards,”
he tells everyone that shit/
that was his catchphrase before he ran away to WeHo,
now you can watch him on Zoom as Abortia Clinik: LIVE FROM LAS VEGAS
doing drag to the songs
we used to blast
while we were high
off his father’s Pretendo—
Summer in the SGV while driving on the 605 in the 90’s was exquisite
25,000 ducks smelled like home, and
if you’ve a penchant for Peking duck
and had the wheels to take you somewhere fancy
not fries and a coke for 3 dollars at Chris’s,
and you lived in L.A. in the 60’s
say thank you 605 duck farm three times for good luck—
An ode to the devil the moon and the muck…
