Occasionally it has been whispered that I complain (whine) about things in my adopted hometown, so I decided to share some of my impressions of the place I've called home for almost forty years. The writing spans a bit of time and perspective, as well.

Before I was a columnist, I was a poet...

Saturday Night SacTown (Circa 1978)

Pregnant girls with basketball bellies
   and bigger bad bangs
tarantula lashes
purple lips colored inside the lines
Not dressed for the weather
Hanging out by the Discount Store
Worrying their gum
Waiting

At the bar on K Street, gay men
Sucked in by the stereotype
Puppy dog eyes
Leather baseball caps and cowboy boots
Leather vests, Pearly buff chests
Eyes lined
Outside, after hours
(they call it the ‘patio sale’)
A sauna of soured cologne, musky desperation
Leftovers leave together

Wannabe grown-ups, adolescents
Tank tops hair gel
Cherry toenails on the dash
Cruising in cars
Windows down
Way down on Broadway
Speakers and adrenaline blaring
Bottle in the backseat
No U-turn

3/23/91
 

Tower, Café Patio
Sunday morning late
Saccharin on the breeze, sunshine
Legs folded, entwined, swan neck
Scuffed cotton slippers, hooded
Faded black scarf
Crocheted around her neck, faceless
Sad beautiful music
Sung far away in Spanish
Sifting water
Olive and grey sweaters
Books doodled and doted on, softened
Scarred
Glass of water with no lip imprint
Light through the shrubbery behind her, a paper sack
Stage right. I read her
With my brunch, she reads
And replaces things from the paper bag

When she takes her leave
her hip sway
hints at chapters I might have missed

2008