no trips without a tripper
Jeffreys announced: “Holmes, we have a party for two- away with them!”
and swerve went the Catholic crowd,
chomping on frozen Friday night fried fish sticks
"and hold the handshakes and prayers"
next aside Jeffreys lamented,
“I can’t believe it, so dirty!
There should be a law mandating bidets!”
later picking over satori visions
thru Fisherman’s Wharf food house window,
my whiskey fueled maniac tablemate
blurbs from his drinkin glass,
bubbling profanities between his yellow stained mouth
astonished at my mad blue pen
streaking 200 miles an hour this “all too personal poetry”,
while from adjacent tables
objections are seeded somewhere
south of Marina Bay’s mechanical pulleys,
self-manufactured ropes
but now Jeffreys is back,
smugly spinning dimes, hustlin:
“thanks a lot for the 30% even a 20% tip!"
“sure thing”!, I apathetically look up
all the while pondering:
“are these cross country trips hinged on
which coast abandons you,
which town breaks your heart,
which trail ascends enuf for prayer,
or which trail descends enuf to abandon all hope”?
cause it certainly seems
there’s hardly ever enough gas
left in my tank,
these recent foggy Baghdad by the Bay
Indian summer
new age years
9/21/73
Fish Wharf, SF