February 17, 2009

I'm flying to San Francisco
for a conference which I will
attend for no more than
the time it takes me to lose
the attention and professional respect
of the 4 dinosaurs who get
lost in my little circus of a paper.

I'm flying to San Francisco
unapologetic for the several
bakeries, bookstores, and brasseries
I will sit at armed to the ankle
with just a marbled notebook and tongue.

I will find every coffee shop ini
the Upper East side, refusing to drink
coffee and sipping only on
the stories left on the mosaic
tables like an embarrassing tip.

I will return with an army
of little sentences, drawing up
for an attack, and though
my hand will be unshaken
and my CV only slightly heavier,
on accepting the nomination
for Poet Laureate some years
down the road, I'll thank the
English Department's financial
contribution and tip my now watched
hat to the investment they made
on those hilly brick streets
so many years ago.