Wednesday, March 04, 2009


Walking home I imagine
my life as a movie: it’s raining
and I jog across the street. A cab

cuts through the midground and large
grainy yellow names
are brought to the fore. I imagine

this as the start of the story's
arc, propelled under the careful
guidance of a trustworthy director working

and keeping watch, while I sit
watching basketball
at a Mexican restaurant in Oakland