WEST COAST STORY

6400 Franklin01

WEST COAST STORY

It was a down-at-the-heels place

A five story apartment house

When the elevator reached each floor

It squealed like a big fat mouse.

The lobby was all graffitied up

Like a tagger had gone stark mad.

But the rent was cheap and also

The pads themselves weren’t bad.

 

The woman from right above me

Had a laugh like a turkey gobble.

Which fits because her big old chin

Had a big baggy fat turkey wattle.

She thought her husband

Never had played around

But he slipped into apartment B

Whenever his wife went downtown.

 

Delbert lived downstairs from me

And he wasn’t the brightest kid.

Sometimes I had to laugh aloud

At some of the things he did.

But, the silliest may have been

When he made a marijuana buy.

He paid out a hundred dollars cash

For a bunch of parsley left to dry.

 

Six members of a rock band

Rented out the entire first floor

So that people who came there

Could knock on a window or a door.

Dial-a-party was always going on,

They didn’t need a door chime

There was a hootenanny somewhere

On that floor in four-four time.

 

There was a batch of little people

A bawdy rowdy lot they were

And a former famous madam

Who always wore a lot of fur.

Of course, it was Hollywood and

It was seldom cool enough

To need that heavy of a coat

But nobody wanted to piss her off

As that might have rocked her boat.

 

Being rather a homebody type

I didn’t really fit in with the crowd.

It was often that the late nights

Were disturbing and illegally loud.

But to tell the truth, I liked it

The noise, the freaks and everything,

Because every day and every night

Something exciting was happening.

 

Brent Kincaid

1/30/2015

 

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