Some idiot had built smog above L. A.,
but Rocky and Lil were happy
just to stop feeling crappy.
Lil rolled some guy at the bus station.
They headed to Venice
where they rented a room from Jack Palance.
Bodybuilders stared at Rocky’s black eyes
and not one of them ogled Lil’s legs
except for the women who didn’t need their eggs.
The waves kept coming ashore
asking for directions to Greece.
They didn’t even bother to say please.
Some blonde surfer dude gave them directions,
told them, take a left at Panama
and a right at Alabama.
The hot sun wore them out
so Rocky and Lil
headed back up a hill,
closed the door behind them
and made love all night longed
as if they belonged.