Soft music down a windy street worn smooth by light years of frustration traffic —The Fugs
Two red oak leaves stuck to the side window
of an old Checker cab,
headlights reflected in dark puddles,
the old Hancock tower’s weather light glowed
red for rain,
and from a higher building a beacon
revolved in the night,
horns of boats in the harbor echoed through streets
where water splashed up from gutters,
ran down sidewalks,
there on a corner I thought I saw you,
you with your bag of poetry books, pens,
first drafts,
a stoplight glowed red in a puddle,
and when my cab finally moved ahead,
you were gone.
Of course I should have known,
it couldn’t be you,
we wouldn’t write any more poems together,
I’d seen you die on the first day of spring.
I forgot where I was going,
in all this rain,
I didn’t know
why the streets were so wet,
why this cab was so old,
I forgot what you had been writing about
the last time we were together;
the rain taxi crossed rivers of street lights.
Rainy Thursday Seattle Night – Gerard Martinez
