Dedicated to the BarCelona Restaurant
Pasadena, you are an old lady
in a sun hat smelling your roses.
You are a young black woman
walking down Colorado Blvd.
to the sound of a sensual Samba.
Pasadena, you are an old man singing the blues
on the street with his dog guarding a Starbucks cup
doubling as a tip jar.
You are traditional, staid,
wearing a white collar
worn so long and so frayed
it has turned blue.
Pasadena, you are the Green Hotel
envy of the Hiltons.
Your are rich with the
art of the poor on your streets.
I walk past restaurants I cannot afford.
And smiling women I cannot afford
And clothing stores I cannot afford
But I appreciate the street music
and I drop a few coins
into an open saxophone case.
Pasadena, you could have been
another Los Angeles metropolitan sprawl.
But as I step left, right, left
past your present, into your future--
a monument to your history.
I'm glad you have remained true to yourself
and not become just another small town LA footnote
at the bottom of the San Gabriel foothills.
Pasadena, you are an old lady but, Baby,
You are young at heart.
You are both very cool and very hot
and I love you.