A Lunch

 

I go for a walk

down the hill into Berkeley

past the family of April deer grazing

past the government security gate

and the bored head of a grave man humming

and find my self walking thru campus glass & brick

three and four storied building

lined with grass and paving

heading for Sather Gate Plaza

& onto Telegraph Avenue

into the lunch crowd,

a crazed animal of unknown and unknowable origins,

into Moe’s books

past the sweet smelling cigar

where I graze on Rexroth and Machado

and linger next to the book cart

filled recently with anthologies

and Bukowski and Walt Whitman.

I finish and pocket Ferlinghetti

Coney Island of the Mind

stop off at the Med for an americano

and head back up  grabbing a polish hot dog,

but not yet

wonder what crazy carefree unparsed life

I am living.