Poetry Archive

Rainy night San Francisco

At Powell and 16th

a doped-up dirt bag

bellowed madly

voice splitting

the air

like flatulence

something ragged

once

a trench coat

hung dripping

around his shoulders  

matted hair

wrapped

around his ears

army boots

without laces

 

whatever

scorched his brain

left nothing but

detritus 

 

the whole

underbelly of the

city came alive

at night—

hustlers, pimps,

grifters, pushers,

drunks, burnouts,

freaks, junkies,

gangbangers, and

whores 

 

some scurried

through the rain

for shelter under

eaves and darkened

porticos

tramping around the

homeless

who slumped against

buildings under soggy

Goodwill coats

or in shapeless

cardboard boxes

 

other creatures

of the night

clumped in

alleyways or on

street corners

picking at

each other

like sores

oblivious to the

rain lost souls

trapped in a

nightmare of their

own creation

drugged up and

dreamed out

living so far out

on the edge

all they had left

was an eternal

now

filled with

needs

that could never

be met

and days

they would soon

forget

 

They crept along

in the shadows

while around them

the city was

ablaze

in shimmering

light

 

I drove through

this radiant

madness

like rowing

past a beautiful

garden along the

River Styx

 

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Email: terry@terryrbacon.com
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