SOUTH OF MARKET

You can see from
The look in his eyes
The scar on his face
That he's someone
You don't want to mess with
His eyes survey the scene
Like a periscope
He's a two-bit thug
Looking for action
An old time beat cop
Looking for a head to bash
He's Boston Blackie
And Al Capone rolled
Into one

His women are mean and lean
Bred on the S & M scene
With tattooed flesh
And black mesh

They walk the seedy side
Of Town
Looking to do the last
Waltz with you
In a back alley
At South of Market street
Or in a basement dungeon
It's all the same
All part of the game
Doing a tap dance
On your spine
Looking dead serious
Like a sumo wrestler
Pinning you
To the ground
Daring you to make
A sound

---

DINING OUT WHEN I WAS YOUNG

I didn't like it when
my father took me with him
for lunch at Compton's Cafeteria
on Market and Van Ness
in San Francisco
it wasn't the food which was
o.k.
but the old folks that
i feared
the cook was fat and bald
and there were no waitresses
the bus boy was old
not a boy at all
and the people who came there
to eat were retired people
on low incomes
with death warrants for eyes
dabbing at their chins with
paper napkins
looking like pall bearers
back from a funeral

---

WORDS THAT FALL LIKE HARD RAIN

sitting here alone as
i've grown accustomed
listening to billie holiday
pounding the computer keyboard
trying to make a little magic
jack daniels racing through my veins
having just returned from a book party
celebrating the life of bob kaufman
gone like so many others before him
and so many others lined up and waiting
to follow
an army of poets sitting on my book shelf
t.s. eliot counting bank notes
william carlos williams suturing wounds
ginsberg the madison avenue marketing genius
ferlinghetti in his sailor's suit
kaufman walking the streets of New York
singing his magic with Charlie Parker
blake playing cards with God
lorca playing russian roulette
gary snyder building word bridges
and suddenly I'm not alone any more
the words falling like hard rain