preacher's fist,
hobo dime won't enlist
in the annual march,
rolls outta town
on some gambler's toss
ten cents wortha nothin'
trips all the way west
to this gold coast place,
knockabout face kissing
the asphalt spokesway
my bike rolls over,
tires humming ..
"You is my lucky dime"
and, there it be - my eye
draws a bead on one I've missed -
now, streetwise and weary,
'heads up' on Mission in front
of Restaurant Roosevelt -
kindly profile,
FDR's troubled brow,
heart big enough to care
about dimes jingling
in poeples' pockets -
this 1946D goes in mine
[+]
Stephen Kopel is San Francisco's 'pedalling poet'
with perfect abs who depends on the frequency of
vibrations emanating from the attic of his head...whose
work resides in academic journals like Red Cedar Review,
Antigonish Review, Harpur Palate,
Birmingham Poetry Review and others.
