San Diego is ot
really a city,
but (just) a place.
not the sort of place
where poets are likely
to form a collective –
a thought I had
driving south on 15.
Not as I have
always wondered
why things here
don’t last.
Or with any sense
of loss or longing.
But like tring
to recall the capital
of a state
I never went to.
There was that
15 minute window
when we all met
(back in the 70s)
Some people had
their places &
held them,
some got them
later on.
Some took library
jobs, city jobs.
I won’t name
names –
it is too coy.
And I am not.
I liked it then,
the beginning
before I got
worn down
by the things
the men said,
the ones
who claimed
to be my friends
the ones who
wanted sex
& never had time
to give real feedback
on my work.
That was before
I started to think
I always loved writers, before
I met them
in real life.”