Making My Way Back up Polk without You by Peter N Sherburn-Zimmer

A Nob Hill lantern – crates of oranges,
The ragged memory of your voice, Jasper…
One lady at a time, between nickel and dollar cant

Transient, reflected in the rain…no more song for
passers-by.
We must refuse the empty space, bottles full of pennies:
its a commercial regress from cold and the bus

Trash culture, boys roar by – take your time, grab a coffee;
I’ll watch your stand…if I have to miss my ride,
‘Tall red, make my day, let me play’

Words can only be sung again against the cold, take a shot,
‘Where are you now?’ I won’t pretend
— one less pan-handler does not matter: ‘Not!’