drifters or transients,
or hippies as the tourist ads announce.
a young man with brown eyes and
long stringy hair walks up and asks,
hey man? you seen my old lady?
i laugh, no one says old lady, and point
up to the window of my hotel
room at the Hotel Arcata.
so she’s your old lady now?
i start to speak but stop,
turn toward the hotel
yet my feet cannot move.
Tammy emerges from
the front door, fresh and clean,
full of life, a life my mind cannot
she runs up, kisses me hard on the mouth,
says, thanks man, runs up to the kid
with brown eyes and stringy hair,
says, hey where you been?