Opening for lunch alone when Larry was gone
the day Rust Never Sleeps was released,
shouting to the salt shakers, Listen, it’s Neil!
The night we headed up Telegraph to score
a bag of weed, lucky Alonzo found us,
a couple of damn fool white boys.
The long walk over the hills to Moraga,
the way the valley twisted along the creek
like a green snake in blond grass.
Riding BART from the Dead show
back to 14th Street Station the night
we watched Jane Fonda sway with the music.
Not so much about the Moonies but a fine line
connecting scenes from The Graduate
with dark shapes from the coming plague.
The huge rat that ran across my path
on another rainy lap around Lake Merritt,
winter without cold, just rain and rain and rain.