Spectators arrive from all over
the world, the three of us too busy
to notice, Anna A. holds the camera
while I put on my roller skates.
There are colorful tropical parrots here,
sand carvings and artwork,
earrings and skateboarders
who are stanzas of boom box courage,
coffee bean poets, free style pupils
of concrete and bebop.
I am walking away from
“Muscle Beach,” from Hollywood,
from all the noise of neon light and
puff cream breasts, past the large
mural of Jim Morrison.
I am walking past little night clubs,
waving to the naked woman
in the bathtub on her front lawn.
I am so far gone that Santa Monica
is an ant hill, the Queen Mary a bar
of green soap, and if I had a marijuana
cigarette I’d build myself a
time machine just so I could
vote for Barry Goldwater.
Vladimir Swirynsky started
writing at the age of 45 after
spending two weeks at Mardi Gras.
He has published 15 books along
with two spoken word CDs. He won
the grand prize in the Case Western
Reserve University, Baker-Nord
Center for the Humanities