A Hymn to The Angelenos

Sealed inside my shiny car
Talking map on the dash
Navigating traffic fast then slow
Cruising from the Hollywood district 
to Sunset Boulevard -
I feel like a real Angeleno.

Until I notice details on the sidewalks
- A man weaving along a graffitied wall
Wearing layers, carrying more.
A sign of sales’ options looming 
Over a sun-bleached parking lot
With crisply fronted boutique stores.

Subject to fire and flood
On a fault line
Still people stay.
Castle-sized houses, 
Identical bungalows, 
Bedding on the walkway.

Apparently nonchalant
In the face of destruction -
Are they intoxicated?
Impossibly naïve? 
Ludicrously optimistic? 
Or just stuck – indentured?