An Evening Stroll through Chinatown and North Beach, San Francisco, 1993

I arrived
sun low, not yet setting
must have been around 8:00

Split a table at a crowded Chinese
restaurant with a radio d.j.
Incredible food.
We talked long,
left when the light was dim,
said good-bye.
I went up a block,
stopped by a microbrewery
for a beer,
asked directions to a tobacco shop.

On the way for cigars
a Hindi girl leaning in a doorway
asks to read my palm
I hesitate
"You have great problems. I can tell.
Come back."
I go on, pick up the cigars, and return.
She leads me to a spacious upstairs room
with a shag rug,
ivory and leather couch around the walls.
A middle-aged man and a little girl watch TV
"I have a customer. Please leave."
The man departs, the child stays and
turns the sound off, leaving a spent, ghostly image.
The girl reads my palm and I leave,
her words lingering in my mind,
like warm, stagnant air.

Outside an aged Chinese woman sells
pornography on the street.

I drop by an upper class Italian club.
On the other side of the bar
a man with strong arms and soft hands
discusses hot tubs
with a healthy Italian girl.
Now and then she glances at me,
knowing,
questioning.

A few steps down the street,
in a dingy corner saloon,
the bass violin player
in a three piece band
belts out R&B based rock
and a "little red rooster" that'll
steal your soul.

Down the street a neon sign flashes:
NUDE
NUDE
NUDE
LIVE GIRLS
while underneath a woman in black and pink
with pseudo-ebony eyes
beckons.
Just another siren of the nuclear age.

Talk in the bars centers on Koresh
and the children dying at Waco.
Tear gas?
Suicide?

Deep in the red and green neon
of Chinatown German tourists
question their maps while
a wino screams out an obscene
plea for forgiveness to a neon god
as he roots through the trash
while papers and whispers
blow down the alleyways.

The stripper in one joint was from Seattle,
had moved to Frisco with her roommate
who settled here.
Only started two weeks ago.
Sweet girl
($40 for drinks and conversation)
She mounts the stage proudly
for teachers and salesmen
as the homeless beg for change
on every street corner
(one had his sleeping bag stolen
the other homeless call him stupid).

Tomorrow's front page is already out:
Montana says no to 49er's.
Beneath is the story of Koresh
and the 86 who died in the blaze.

I enter a bar
next to the psychic's place,
where a man loudly berates the government
to a colleague with alarming clarity
and the rotten smell
of truth gone bad.

The psychic's words still linger:
"You have many problems.
You are very confused.
You love doing good for others,
but you get none in return.
You will live a long life.
You will have many sorrows
and many joys.
I will pray for you if you want.
Do you want me to pray for you?"

"Yes."

"Many sorrows. Many joys.
I will light a candle for you.
I will light nine candles for you.
Do you want me to light nine candles for you?"

"Yes."

"Many sorrows. Many joys.
Each drop of wax that drops or runs
down the side of each candle
will bring a new joy,
will be a sorrow relieved.
Do you want me to light nine candles for you?"

"Yes."

"Because the candles come all the way
from Jerusalem
they are $20 each.
Do you want me to light the candles for you?"

"I'll pass.
Leave them for someone who needs them more."
I pay her twenty and leave.

The psychic comes in and passes,
looking at everyone but me.
She goes upstairs
comes back in ten minutes,
looking at everyone but me,
passing me by.
She's a beautiful, blind ghost in another world.

Talk in the bar centers on Koresh
and the ghoulish press.
I meet Joe there.
He talks about the police in Argentina.
"Make evidence gained by torture
inadmissible in court
and they'll stop torturing.
That's what scares me about proposition 18,
it makes everything admissible."
Joe continues.
He had been a victim of torture.
He says.
He says he knows
what he's talking about.
His conversation turns
to how the best clams are
from El Salvador.
They're famous, world-famous,
he says.

Outside
A madman screams obscenities
at a lamp post
while the bartenders talk
about candy bars.

The stripper's conversation was sweet
until I ran out of money.

I walk outside,
light up a cigar,
and drift away.

Sign in the bar says,
"Everyone here brings joy
Some by entering
Some by leaving."