22 DAYS 1958

Rain, 23 days straight, new record for California,
breaks old record of , you guessed it, 22 days, 1958, the year of my birth.
The grey, the grey, slowly killing, sucking dry any spirit I'd had left,
plus did I mention, my woman left me for a Canadian heroin addict, presently
addicted
to N.A.,
and moved to Brooklyn with him, a town that gave away the Dodgers.
Perfect, leave me here with nothing but rain and the 3rd place Giants, cause
I can take it,
in fact like it, rain on, let's see what you got, what I got.
I'll pick up my daughter from school and we'll watch the Jungle Book twice,
stopping for brief PBJ intermission, warming ourselves by the glow of sweet
youth,
and cathode rays.
I hope it rains all week.
I dare it.



6 DOLLARS SHY

I like to
get out early with the cab,
get a jump on the evening with a few pre-traffic runs around the city.
But it never works out.
There's too many obstacles and preparations.
I first have to remove the American flag placed on the rear windshield
everyday,
by the day driver who leaves the tank 6 dollars shy of full, in his effort
to save,
6 dollars.
I have to top off at the gas station and turn in the receipt to the
dispatcher,
to get reimbursed the 6 dollars.
I then need proper placement of lumbar support, receipts, waybill, photo ID,
cassette tapes/cds, starting with pre-war blues and working chronologically
towards,
Exile On Main Street.
Upon realizing that one headlight is out I must shop the cab,
remove all my carefully positioned accoutrement,
align them in a different cab with a whole new set of problems like:
No spare tire, top light is out, meter displays
unrelated numbers or
letters
or symbols, (i.e @@##$$%%^^&&**&&^^%%$$##@@!)
brakes sound funny, windows won't go up.
Meanwhile my original cab is ready to roll so I remove all my shit,
from the cab I'm in and throw it back in my regular cab,
turn on the goddamn Giant's game and prepare to pick up anything with less
than 3 eyes.
There's a persistant squeak coming from somewhere behind the dash,
making me clench my jaw, and I know
I'll be listening to this squeak, this laughter of unseen cab deities,
for the next 10 hours.
I put on B.B. King-"Live At The Regal" and breathe deeply.



CLUB SIROCCO

11:17 PM, Wed. nite, cruising the N Judah Muni line for stranded hopefuls,
hoping for the train that won't come for another 40 minutes,
I follow the tracks in my cab,
staring at the Russian ladies with their beautifully dyed red hair,
(Russian girls don't

die, they just dye their hair)
daring, pleading, willing them into my Lair of Public Transport,
as they look past me in the hopes of seeing a train,
not due for at least 40 minutes.
I creep past them muttering insults, my meter cold, ass numb,
accelerator foot fatigued in the arch, I need 5 more fares.
5 more fares to make it, to feel something like a man.
40 bucks to shed the invisible paper hat,
but the tough old peasantry won't bite.
I'm using the wrong bait.
"I should pay 9 dollars for a ride home when the train cost 75 cents!?
Phugh(air pushed past upper dentures pressed into thin lower lips)!!"
their eyes scream at me.
Tough old broads can take the cold, damp night air, all night if need be,
nothing compared to their previous life, lives.
I park in front of the Club Sirocco at 36th and Judah,
walk in, past the bar, to the Men's room,
barkeep with a dirty
look,
(I'm not a paying customer, but neither is he, so we're even)
I see 3 people spread out at the bar:
1 acid casualty, 40 something, surfer,
2 old white guys, both with poodles.
(1 old white guy with a poodle in a bar at the edge of the Earth,
would have made my night.
On this evening I get 2.)
I enter the Men's, stride up to a urinal, confident that my prostate is less
enlarged than,
anyone else in the bar,
I see 2 ashtrays on top of 2 urinals.
How incredibly thoughtful of the management, maybe they could clean the
floor,
once in a while.
I finish my business, and muscle up to the bar.
"Maker's on the rocks"
Bartender stares at me, and I quickly pull off my cab badge.
He serves me and nobody says a word,
to me, or each other,
the poodles enough for everyone tonight, and we relax because,
tomorrow we may need
more

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