At this moment I experience the desire for spontaneous grace. For the rain that holds off till ten minutes after your hike, for the extra five minutes a friend waits until your arrival, for the extra twenty miles your car somehow runs until the gas station.
For the soft edges on the too-metallic recliner, for the last three rays of the sunset, for the directions you look up at the one coffeehouse where the public computer actually gets Wi-Fi.
For the reason why some businesspeople stop and give change to a strange homeless person, for the reason why a receptionist smiles and lets you in too near closing time, for the reason why people share words of support and a few bucks to folks online without asking for proof first.
For the mirror kind enough to break and shift your image in all the right ways, for the dandelion in the cracks that escapes the neighbor's weed-whacker, for the train that waits for you.
For the traffic cop who winks - just once - at the jaywalkers or the driver ten or fifteen miles over the limit, for the single parent whose garage sale customers tell him/her to keep the change, for the time your housemate who loves angry talk radio actually switches on music.
For the gleam of a rainbow in the soapscum on your dishes, for the time when your Mom actually doesn't open her mouth when there are still dirty dishes in your room, for the reason I still do favors for a friend everyone says could do more for herself.
For home, for love and memories, for the grace notes at the end of the symphony. For the extras which get and keep us up in the morning.
-- After the concept of 'Spontaneous Prose,' and dedicated to Jack Kerouac, Neal Cassady, Edie Kerouac, Gary Snyder, and Diane Di Prima.
Two for Caffe La Boheme, the Mission eatery where we host our San Francisco writing group:
I chalk the words
magenta faux cursive
grass-green faux monumental
menu replete with offerings
mortadella panini rotini
middle eastern parmesan seitan
blushing slushing muffin
for crowded scattered eaters
chess and Pellegrino
pigtails, glasses, and Mommy's laptop
hipster boots, beard, and show tickets
Tomorrow, march to revolution
rehearse for tango production
dust up for school library function
but tonight - sample a muffin.
Haiku for the paintings on the wall:
Pale mistresses fade
darting to a distant star
thin satin goodbyes.