Romance for a New Age

Caballero dismounts from red scooter bike.
Takes guitar off his back.
Stands under 100 year old tree,
Looking up to 90 year old bedroom.
Singing.
Celebrating passionately his everlasting love.

Upper X

I wonder if slobs ever leave the dankness of their concrete jungle,
Walk down the street.
Stand in the sun watching cars on the freeway,
Palms in the landscape.
Wishing they had somewhere to go,
Could sleep under a tree,
Lie in weeds.
If they do, I never see them.
I’m lucky to be a dreamer,
A block and a half from Paradise,
A few steps from my darkness.

Didn’t answer the question

Asked an 80 year old –
Were there more bums when you were a kid than homeless today?
He said in those days they wanted food not money.
They’d rake leaves for a sandwich.
They weren’t aggressive.
They knew their place.
My mom never felt threatened,
Was never afraid.

Great place to die

Old timers in Midtown.
On their death bed.
Beg to be put outside.
Under the trees.
To make peace with the life they led.

Customer is King

Walked a homeless woman to a gas station.
Carried some of her crap.
She needed to pee.
Bought some cigarettes,
But they made her leave.

The Oasis

Lush and sunny after the storm,
Winn Park was empty.
Stunned me.
I felt free.
The park was mine,
But I chose not to sit.
I was afraid I’d corrupt it.

The Unbelievers

With all our trees,
You’d think our faith in God would grow.
But like them,
It dies more every year.

Face the Tabernacle

Went to Mass one Saturday in Midtown celebrated by two or three priests.
I don’t know the occasion.

It was fast-moving, passionate, executed perfectly.
I wondered why I didn’t have what the priests had.
Everyone was overwhelmed.

For years it troubled me – a performance more than a ritual.
Instead of making me awe the Mystical Body of Christ,
I was in awe of the priests’ ability to put on a show,
Facing the audience,
Just like in their beloved theater.

Not up to it

Our trees are magical but we aren’t.
We don’t have the confidence to be.
That’s why it’s awkward here.
All this beauty,
But we don’t feel free.

Astounded

37 years ago
Freight train rumbled through after storm
Snow piled on roofs
In wheel wells
Me wondering if anybody made it over
The story he would tell.