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San Francisco, July 2010

A Poem by Randi C. Abel

By Randi AbelPublished 5 years ago 1 min read
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San Francisco, July 2010

I am living

on ten dollars a day:

a cup of coffee,

two bus rides,

and a taco.

I am really living

in a house

with no rooms

and the sweet smell of piss

on the corner

where the bums sleep

on Saturdays.

Waiting for a bus

on 16th and Mission

I get hassled

and harassed

by men in cars with

black windows yelling

“Hey baby, can I give you a ride?

Get in. I’ll take you places

you never knew you wanted to go.”

Buying cherries

for 99 cents a pound

at the Mexican markets,

the hogs’ heads

devoid of blood

smile at me from behind the glass.

Everything was stolen

so I

sneak into bars

get friends to buy me

cheap bottles of wine

and 24oz cans of Bud.

Get drunk

and stoned

because there is nothing

else to do.

There are

no papers to write,

no paychecks to earn,

no one who needs me

to show up on time.

So I

wake up at noon

watch Casablanca

until 3 in the morning,

share cigarettes.

I don’t tell anyone

I’m cleaning houses for cash,

not writing a thing,

wasting days in the park,

and drinking Irish tea

while scheming up

the next big plan.

But there is friendship

and guys who try to

make out with me

in the kitchen

when it is late

and everyone is wasted,

and ex-cons

who give me

my best night in San Francisco,

and girls with purple hair

who bring me art.

slam poetry
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About the Creator

Randi Abel

Poet and storyteller currently based out of Denver, Colorado.

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