The speaker is dreaming, almost ready to wake, when he spots something odd across the street: a young blonde woman spinning inside a big shiny hoop, her long hair circling like a halo. A voice from nowhere keeps repeating that she is "all beautiful." It feels like a commercial, but there are no cameras and no crew, so what he's watching is simply happening.
That realization changes things. He sees her as Venus, the goddess from Botticelli's painting of her birth, now glowing in the middle of Los Angeles. The poem shifts from casual, wry description to something close to awe. The speaker admits he has his own prejudices, perhaps about the city or about this kind of image, yet the sight overrides them. His repeated "ah, yes!" reads like a gasp of delight and surrender. The mood is dreamy, bright, and a little giddy, as if beauty has broken through the ordinary and he has chosen to believe his eyes.