She has an SRO in North Beach
and she’s a poet
who taught writing at the arts school
until the white wine
caught up with her
“My hotel room could be nice,” she says,
“but when I’m there
all I want to do is leave!”
The room is 9×10
and the one window
looks into an airshaft
If you open the window
you smell hamburger grease,
fish sauce and durian
but if you close it
all you smell
is mold
which is why
she’s always at the bar
“But hey,” she says,
“isn’t poetry great?!”
I look into her bleary eyes
and we both
raise a glass.