Wide eyed and innocent

I see them all
wide eyed and innocent,
gaping mouths open
in their rock and roll clothes
and their rock and roll hair cuts.
Fumbling down Sunset
like misplaced cattle,
they smell Autumn
beneath the smog
and sweat and sewage.
They awe at the sight of
teenie bopper blonds
in heavy make up,
cleavage aglow in glitter lotion.
In awe of a legendary location,
romanticized in pop culture.
To them, this is Oz.

What they don't know is that
one block south,
the houses sell for 2.5 million on average,
and signs on every corner read,
"No turns after 10PM".
Not to protect the quiet enjoyment
of the wealthy residents,
but to curb the rampant prostitution.
They don't know that
the drunk dude they're snickering at
always carries that huge
stuffed alligator, (it's probably his bed)
or that the teenage boys
selling star maps will also
gladly sell them cocaine.

Those wide eyed and innocent
aspiring song writers
and busty would-be starlets
have left the farm,
and they won't be the same
when they inevitably go back,
chewed up and spit out
by Hollywood.
The Sleeping Beauty.
The Land of the Free.