The women
Cover nipples
And vaginas
(Resentfully),
While displaying
Well-oiled bodies.
Their taut butts,
Flexed,
Display a tight crack
Able, in a pinch,
To crack nuts.
(5/28/13)

He hires hard-times Ruben to partner
Him for weekend doubles games—the Ruben
Who “stays” (term of art for the homeless corps)
Under a bush beneath a freeway span.

Ruben, though destitute, plays tennis well,
And that, of course, balloons Don’s spirits high.
It’s nice to win, enjoy that prideful swell
And, at the same time, help this needy guy.

And when the game is done, Don, graciously,
Invites his partner to his gleaming car—
Drives Rube back “home” in his trim Ferrari,
To resume his hopeless, rough safari.
(9/15/12)

Our Kim’s promoting charities,
And Gillian’s busy learning law;
While Lisa works the dark, dank, docks,
Patricia works so hard she’s sore.

That furry-biked East-Asian lass
Has disappeared—her muscles flawed.
Andrea’s got a job, alas!
They’re seldom here, those girls that awed.

We miss their skin, their shapely shorts—
Excitement’s drained down at the courts.
(8/24/12)

Down at the paddle tennis courts, a girl
Joined me on my favorite bench and asked,
“Written any poems this week?” Her pearly
Skin, flushed with youth, left me bemused and tasked.

Though pride’s a famous sin, I must confess
I swelled a bit, declaimed my latest wit.
That earned a pout—“You write of Nat’lie’s flesh,
Andrea’s ass, and Lisa’s depth and tits,

For pity’s sake, ‘midst all your sassy glee,
Why can’t you write some verses about me?”
(8/12/12)

A billion-two offered for our Dodgers—
Our storied ancient team (dem Bums! bleed Blue!)—
From Chinese sovereign funds. Asian codgers
Want to buy our team—how can this be true?

Dodger dogs replaced by dim sum, soybeans—
Rice wine instead of beer—tailgate parties
Featuring kung pau? Come on! How extreme
Can world trade be? Will moneymaking art

Trump tradition? Free trade? Dear to most hearts!
But Chinese ownership? That really smarts!
(9/10/11)

The other day he pointed out to me,
With pride, his new court shoes, stunning blue, pure
(His sober features arch, suffused with glee)—
Not navy, teal—but blazing bright azure!

Festooned with scores of patterned holes, those sneaks,
Though heavenly, portend athletic threat—
Those holes, however cute, prevent foul reek
By venting fumes, evaporating sweat.

He flexed, he pranced, displayed uncommon stride,
And fashion’s pinnacle—laces untied!
(6/29/11)

Something about the dog-walking widow
Passing, each morning, on Ocean Front Walk
Down at the paddle tennis courts—no quit
Shows. Chin high, scion of talented stock,

She glows with easy smiles (her features’ norm).
And though she strides with military spine,
Evidence reveals underlying warmth—
It’s the dogs, you see, scraggly, not divine.

Despite her fame and wealth, no stately Danes,
No coifed poodles here. Rescued mutts attest
A heart engaged, that’s always been the bane
Of bleak injustice—always, without rest!

Our heroine (frankly, we dwell on her),
Our local angel, our Anjelica
     (5/14/11)

Imagination! Exotic cuisine—
Sliders, marinated tuna, kebobs.
Various fine coffees, richly caffeined,
Accent multi-flavored bread pudding gobs!

At the bottom of my block, excitement
Reigns, and wise diners, hopefully, will flock—
Recognize the drive, the spirit—ferment
The passion to sustain, expand the shock

Of innovation—make that spot a Scene—
Reward Erez, Sarah, Trish, and Arlene!
                        (11/23/10)

Down at the paddle tennis courts, Carrie
And I sat, watching a fierce match. A man,
With a carton of M&Ms, tarried,
Approached, vending (he said) to fund a plan

Creating scholarships for bright, poor kids.
Hardened by experience, we sensed “scam,”
And politely waved him off, pleased to rid
Ourselves of one more desperate flimflam.

He moved on, paused, returned and stared at her
(Slender, fifty-one, face ovaled by hair,
Curly black, touched up no doubt), clearly stirred,
And said, quietly, “You have character.”

Now Carrie (who’s been around the block) gasped.
Sure, she’s been hit upon, leered at, flattered—
But that stuff was easy. This differed, grasped
Her viscera with prim praise that mattered.

He turned away, but she, wide-eyed, soul-axed,
Called him and bought a dozen candy packs.
                                  (9/13/10)