putting together
the fragments
of yesterday I sat in this
back street bar watching
the animated waterfall
fall gently
like a postcard vacation
the jukebox
spins 45s
pieces of lost songs
of faded love
of jaded love
of too many quarters
falling down
that sad slot
of swizzle sticks stirring
the last drink
putting together
the fragments
of tomorrow
I sit in this
lonely bar watching
the lazy-eyed blonde
black roots
bad rouge
kissing the napkin
with too much lipstick
knowing vacations
and getting lucky
really aren't
what they
used to be.
Chinatown Jazz
sax man blows
slow note jazz
corner of Kearny
& California
bubbles up like
a slo-gin fizz
in a hip pocket
flask
sun glasses on
case open
accepts loose change
from tourists
walking too fast
to feel
the jazzman's
wail
that wraps the walls
of Old St. Mary's
For a Moment
head propped up
I lay and watch
a gentle wave of
ancient chinese
practice tai chi
in golden gate park
they wave hands in clouds
disguise family secrets
in soft-slow movements
next to me
a young family
flies a red dragon kite
on a bay breeze
for a moment
I close my eyes
to the sun
& dream about
nothing in particular
Before Girls
we would push our
bikes up
the steep hills
then zoom down zig- zagging
like daredevils
wind in our face
drying out the butchwax
made to wear by dad
until we couldn't roll any further
like a thousand screaming locusts
the maris mantle and mays
rookie cards clothes-pinned
to our spokes turning
our schwinns into
wannabe triumphs
old man smith would yell
as we flew by
you little dumb asses
was all we could make out
for that summer we were
the wild ones spitting
gnats from our teeth
