[RCL]

Magic at Cafḗ California

As my small silver coin
clears the rim of his foam cup,
setting sun slides off
his grim game face.

"Now you’re my friend," he says,
leaning over my half-done script
where I sit alone in shadow, as usual,
mind blank and cup half-empty too.

He points to Ervin "Magic" Johnson's face,
centered on his tattered white t-shirt,
his own grin mimicking Magic's
as it beams down on me.

"I'm Ervin," he says, shifting feet,
tugging the bill of his Laker's cap,
faking a one-handed fade away.
"Where you from?"

Wherever you're from, he's been there.
I've overheard him jiving and joking
sometimes singing
for his daily bread many days.

Today, as usual, he's also someone else.
Still from where I started, I say: "Michigan."
"Know East Lansing, my friend? M-S-U?
Played me some hoops there!"

He croons to a passing cornbraided coed,
"Cheerleader! Where you been all my life?"
"Mobile," she murmurs, smile small
as she skips north to UCLA.

"When you’re old and homeless," he says,
his grin magnifying Magic's,
"no-o-o-body wants you."
He licks his lips, shifts feet.

The Cafe owner approaches, as usual,
passes Ervin a small bag of his famous donuts.
He pivots, spots another like himself,
a tall silent woman.

Matted dreadlocks her coronal,
she's our Califa, a ghostly African queen
who daily makes the rounds
of Westwood's whited domes, minarets,
and palm-lined streets.

Ervin drives south to her, singing
"There you, there you be!"
Pacing perfect, they meet
on the white line at mid-street.

Eyes reflecting the phasing sun,
head high, Califa smiles broadly,
her cupped pale palms accepting
his small tributes.

As Ervin winks at me,
flashing a high-five,
the fast-falling sun
slides into my cup.

[Jim Moonan]

.
Hi Ralph, this is quite good to my mind and is a wonderfully woven true-to-life tribute to the Westwood neighborhood where this scene plays out with regularity, I’m sure.
The characters, starting with the anonymous N who sits in his usual spot outside the cafe working on his script/writing, then Ervin “Magic” Johnson is wonderfully portrayed as a mainstay street person with an irrepressible personality and naturally buoyant attitude, then the cafe owner’s cameo appearance, then the co-ed college student that is casually brought into the story as she passes by, and finally the love-interest Califa is no less than an exotic figure/neighborhood fixture that Magic pays homage to by giving her his plastic cup earnings. All the exchanges are beautifully rendered. A tale well-told.

I love the “small bag of his famous donuts”. Why is it that donuts are often described as famous?!?

I wonder if “skipping” is the right locomotion to describe the co-ed passing by… Maybe “bobbing”?

I also wonder at the word “driving” to describe Magic's movement toward Califa.

Much enjoyed — and I’m a Laker hater! (Celtic lover).

.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Ralph—

I agree with Jim that the characters form the center of my interest in this piece. I wonder if you don’t have a poem here that wants to be a short story or piece of flash fiction.
This has happened to me several times. I naturally choose poetry as my default method of expression, but I sometimes discover that the requirements of form in my poem restrict my ability to develop the piece in the direction it wants to go and prose works better.

Westwood is a very expensive and well-patrolled area of L.A. I would have been surprised to find large numbers of economically challenged people there when I last visited, but that was more than thirty years ago. I like the exotic, middle-Eastern flavor of the “whited domes, minarets,/ and palm-lined streets.”

I would like to know more about The N, “Ervin, the panhandler,” Califa, whose name seems linked to the state and the café, and the owner of the café who makes such magical donuts. As they are in the poem, they seem like portraits in a gallery. I want to see them in action, reacting to a problem. What would they do if the café were robbed, or if Califa’s abusive husband/boyfriend came to try to drag her home, for example? Or you might go “magical realism” and give the donuts a real magical power. Fun read.

Glenn

[James Brancheau]

Hey Ralph—Like others, I really enjoyed this. It’s good. I love that “Magic” here is being someone else. One reason that I think this is poignant is because I took this as him escaping his situation in some small way (clearly he knows his situation, but, still…). And combine that with Magic Johnson’s positive energy, the glow of his personality etc.—the contrast between that and this homeless man’s reality. You know, wow. And this has the feel of being real. Whether this really happened or not doesn’t matter, but you have me convinced that it did happen. And that does matter. Anyway, I think the poem has significant impact.

I do have a semi-significant nit, however, for what it’s worth. I’m wondering if the close could be more interesting. I don’t mind the half full/empty cup thing hanging around a little in the poem. In fact, I think what you have is great until that very last line. I guess I just wouldn’t lean on it so heavily there OR (preferably) do something more with that image. Something that makes it a bit more unique? I do love that you use a basketball gesture (with the sun and the cup) in that last stanza. (And that you start with your coin clearing the rim.) Also, I can’t help but want “the” setting sun in the first stanza. Perhaps “a” shadow as well. But, as I mentioned above, I think this is very strong work.

[RCL]

Jim,

Thanks for the careful reading and suggestions. When my head clears again, I’ll see how they work out when I revise. There’s a reference to Stan’s Donuts, a nearby mini shop, around for 55 years but closed a few years ago.

Glenn,

Good points about the urge toward short story in this one. I was working on a narrative film script which might have influenced how the action developed. There were a few regulars who may have camped out beneath the nearby freeway exits and entrances.

James,

Can’t thank you enough for the close reading of details, beginning to end. For the moment, I’m dropping the last line, but will think more about the ending. Will think over your other concerns.

[Cally Conan-Davies]

Ralph,

I know very little about this area of California, and even less about basketball, but Magic Johnson's face has moved beyond the borders of his sport and country, so I (literally) get the picture!

Your portrait-poem really drew me in. I read James's comments, and agree with everything he says. I think it needs a 'the' before "setting sun", and the last line feels a bit flat. I see you're moving from "half-empty" at the start to "more than half full". I don't mind the neatness of circling back for the conclusion. And the image is fine. It's the language. Perhaps it needs more bounce! Anyway --- James has said all this. I just wanted to let you know that I feel the same.

Oh, I did also wonder about "tall silent women". It might be worth playing around with another two adjectives to see if she comes to life quicker at that point. I don't really get much from tall and silent.

Other than that, I really enjoyed the whole scene, and the characters you've drawn so well.

Cally

[Roger Slater]

I enjoyed this as well. Good work!

I just have one small issue. I'm not sure what it means to "flash" a high five, since high fives involve two people, don't they? Might he flash a thumbs-up instead?

[John Riley]

I also enjoyed this. As I read I wondered if it could be shorter but so no place to cut.

[Joe Crocker]

Hi Ralph,

I'm not sure I understood any of the references in this. (Westwood, Magic Johnson, Laker's cap??) but I still enjoyed it. It's nice to read a narrative for a change. And it drew me in. By the end I feel like I got to know Ervin. Thanks.

Joe

[Julie Steiner]

Very nice, Ralph. Small but important spelling fix: Ervin —> Earvin

There was no shortage of such street characters in Westwood eleven years ago, when my older daughter and I lived in an apartment there while waiting for her heart transplant at UCLA, while my husband stayed in San Diego to keep the health insurance going and to single-parent our younger daughter. I exchanged daily greetings and shared occasional meals with a Black woman who was alternately Michael Jackson and Jesus.

Joe, the Lakers are a the National Basketball Association team in Los Angeles. (They were originally the Minnesota Lakers, the state of Minnesota being nicknamed the Land of 10,000 Lakes.) You've probably seen a Californian tourist wearing a purple and gold baseball cap with a Lakers logo at some point, without recognizing it.

The two most famous former Lakers are Earvin "Magic" Johnson, who came out of retirement to co-captain of the Dream Team that gold-medaled at the 1992 Barcelona Olympics (the first year that professional basketball players were allowed to play), and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, whom you've probably also never heard of.