Big bore twin
Pipes burning red
Across black desert bed
Thrusting, youthful searching light
OrionŐs eternal numbing night
Tunneling through cut pitch black
Menacing shadows pushed just back
Darkness swallowing the glaring past
Giving up the dayŐs ghostly cast
Restless rumbling nocturnal mole
Map dot Trona last ditch goal
Crystal light oasis lacking host
Valiant vapors for final coast
Darkness hides lakeŐs ancient bed
Briny sand to pillow head
Chemical cathedral ashen snow
Escape early before shadows grow
Trona vanished vanishing point
Dawn hesitates to reveal this joint
Mojave Desert edge of the earth
Desperados only for a berth
Sunlight warms no soul to care
Death Valley looms on glassy air
Returning from the desert
I passed a big green road sign
It read 74 miles to Bakersfield
and 346 to Sacramento
It was like a warning
I watched it in the mirror
as it quickly melted
into the roadside haze
The road can be so cruel at times
The Great San Joaquin Valley
God, can I get home
by any other way?
Hey, say yeah you.
You going about your special
San Francisco out and about day.
Say yeah to the sidewalk poetry vendor, a
zany young poet selling fresh picked poems
at the farmers market to the shoppers and
tourists who have the will to surrender.
Why the hell walk
all the way up the hilly hill
to the hallowed pulp catacombs
of the City Lights poetry temple,
unless of course you are a
flappy old radical just jowling
for an old jowly Howl, when
you can commission
a custom submission
of freshly blossomed verse
to suit your heart and suit your purse
by the impromptu poetry maestro
right in front of the new Ferry Building
down on the old Embarcadero.
Drop your veil and drop a buck or two
let the sidewalk poet pluck some aphorisms
and some rhymy rhymes just plucked for you
from his old Swiss clunky plunky typewriter
that still has the power to make your
day smile just a little bit brighter.
Say yeah to the Sidewalk Poet.
© Edward Ferri, Jr.