by the chess tables told the tourist
to walk on the south side of Market Street.

the crack dealer told me to put the solid in my mouth
after she pulled it out of her blue jean cunt
and slapped me a blood-stained plastic bag
with some rock inside.

i asked for "duck sauce" for my $1.25 fried fish filet
at the Chinese place on the corner of Sixth Street —
she told me, "no duck sauce; we have sweet and sour sauce,"
so i thanked her for my duck sauce like a wise ass,
as she gave me my change

— she said again, "no duck sauce."

the big boys are rolling the dice
down upon the redbrick sidewalk,
as the afternoon light shimmers
off the cubes of ivory.

eyes of the dice declare

dude loses his b-ball as it comes
bouncing at me — i kick it up like a soccer ball
with my foot and then spin the ball around my back
to him on the sidewalk pass.

Jerry playing a Saturday night gig
at the ol' Warfield where he croons
ecstasy, as sunshine girls in summer dresses
proffer red roses and tears

to his feet, onstage.

for a small moment —
between the flow of traffic,

all i see is light . . .