| ~Scene Beyond My Six-Dollar Lattee~  [+ favourites]
Musicians play for trumpet case loot,
and their tunes circle Pioneer Square
as steps to an underground town
are buffed by the modern dance
of a headstrong troupe.
Rain doesn't slow the cell-phoned suits
or pop and beer can scroungers
where potholes and cardboard pleas for change
compete for revenue sunk by the jerk and shimmy
of the city's deep-sea fault.
A boom-bred girl of the avenues
wonders if any monkeys are kind. The one
she's needled into her tattood ankle
bites and twists. She tilts
back her head, opens her mouth,
tries to catch mist
from the wired sky,
though perfectly aware of the acid.
""...and Tonto way off in the hills moaning like Bessie Smith.""
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