Pico Boulevarding Poem by gershon hepner

Weekdays, Pico Boulevarding,
for a Jew can be exciting;
that’s why, borkh’Hashem, I’m barding,
explaining why it’s so exciting.
Always sunny, except when
it rains, the Boulevard is filled
with sheiteled women and with men
who very rarely bodybuild.
Some heads have yarmulkes, some hats,
though most are Hubbard’s cupboard bare,
and women who are not ersatz
material go with modest ware.
On Robertson, not very far,
you’ll find Madonna, if you’re lucky,
Kabbalah Center’s avatar––
like a mikveh rubber duckie.
Won’t see miniskirts or thongs,
tarot parlors or tattoos;
minyans gather there in throngs,
but there’s no place to buy booze,
only kosher markets which
sell kosher wine and, Pesah time,
five-year old Slivovitz, a nitch
as esoteric as my rhyme.
Jerusalem the Little’s there,
and Pico Glatt and Elat Market,
the customers whom you’ll find there,
mainly of the matriarchate.
Stores for pizza and falafel
but the best nosh is at Pat’s,
cordon bleu––the check may baffle
all except the plutocrats.
Then, of course, there’s Pico Deli,
and the famous Milky Way;
Spielberg’s mother fills your belly
there. Before you go away
you’ll hear her kvelling about Stephen;
you may meet Indiana Jones,
but since the place is almost Vegan,
you won’t bother with some bones.
Women do not talk of Michael-
Angelo, but shiddachs that
they figure out they can recycle,
provided parties both are glatt.
Many of them may be pretty,
but since they are overdressed,
as the shuls within the city,
like Century, have deemed is best,
you have to guess. Don’t fantasize
about the women when they’re kosher;
they hide their best parts from men’s eyes
huppah-ringed kedas of Moshe,
You can’t on Pico Boulevard
get all you can when you’re in Champs-
Élysées, but it isn’t hard
to pass the time there, en passant.

Inspired by “Aux Champs-Elysées, ” a song by Pierre Delanoé, which was sung in the final credits of the movie “Darjeeling Express.”

Je m'baladais sur l'avenue le cœur ouvert à l'inconnu
J'avais envie de dire bonjour à n'importe qui
N'importe qui et ce fut toi, je t'ai dit n'importe quoi
Il suffisait de te parler, pour t'apprivoiser

Aux Champs-Elysées, aux Champs-Elysées
Au soleil, sous la pluie, à midi ou à minuit
Il y a tout ce que vous voulez aux Champs-Elysées

Tu m'as dit 'J'ai rendez-vous dans un sous-sol avec des fous
Qui vivent la guitare à la main, du soir au matin'
Alors je t'ai accompagnée, on a chanté, on a dansé
Et l'on n'a même pas pensé à s'embrasser

Aux Champs-Elysées, aux Champs-Elysées
Au soleil, sous la pluie, à midi ou à minuit
Il y a tout ce que vous voulez aux Champs-Elysées

Hier soir deux inconnus et ce matin sur l'avenue
Deux amoureux tout étourdis par la longue nuit
Et de l'Étoile à la Concorde, un orchestre à mille cordes
Tous les oiseaux du point du jour chantent l'amour

Aux Champs-Elysées, aux Champs-Elysées
Au soleil, sous la pluie, à midi ou à minuit
Il y a tout ce que vous voulez aux Champs-Elysées.

12/18/08