VESUVIO'S

Unsure of the parking situation

I arrive in North Beach early --

BoHo Mecca on Columbus Ave

next door to Jackie K Alley

and City Lights Books.

I’m meeting A.D. Winans

at this venerated "watering hole"

at eleven this morning.

Twenty till

I give up and pull into a lot.

"Twenty bucks for two hours."                         (!@#!&^%!?)

Five minutes later I grab a spot

around the corner.

By the time I’ve gotten set

it’s almost eleven                 "Be there on time" a voice

scolds in my head.

I’m early as it turns out.

Vesuvio’s has the feel of a neighborhood

bar yet what a neighborhood!

Decorating the walls news clippings of past glories

SanFran’s artist elite gathered here

to celebrate life during and after the

Beat heyday          there’s Ginsberg    

This block has drawn the faithful to its

"wall" --                 its "city lights"

for some forty five years

only now hip tourists

are snapping pictures through

the windows hoping to catch the      next Ginsberg.

A few years ago the next Ginsberg

may have driven up Eye Five

with me to this block to read

at a bar in the Mission.

We three poets from angel city

Jay          Donna          Rain

emerged under gray skies

and hit the Hotel Europa

across the ave and above the Condor

Room                      "Where Carol Doda got her start!"

It was perfect

a dreary dump that smelled of

burnt cooking oil and

bad decisions.

I couldn’t wait to get back to

home to San Pedro.

Winans shows up

and we begin the process.

I’ve been in contact with him

for about a year and            in my capacity as publisher

have done two books of the Poem

by him    so we meet at last.

Winans like others of his

age is impatiently waiting

to emerge from the shadows

and be venerated as is his right.

To be a poet of the streets

as was Micheline                                 true and truly

takes an awful toll

the sacrifices are immense:

no retirement

no health insurance

no savings

always working some angle

or another.

To be a working poet in SanFran

is as close as this as anyone would want.

To live by your wits            -- an adventure perhaps

not for everyone

for the young maybe

when it’s easier to duck as trouble’s

fist comes flying at you.

Older is another story

it gets harder to hide from trouble

without succumbing to the temptation

of searching out easy comfort in someone’s

safe haven or under the wing of

their patronage.                    Maybe a teaching job

saves you from the scrap heap

or maybe you just find a way

that makes sense                  and to hell with them!

Winans has found his way

and is emerging into the light at last

with a shred of dignity

and his manhood in tact

is moving to the beat                           groupies in tow

A.D. still has charisma with

the ladies                               a fine reward for choosing

the poet’s life over the time clock’s lure

There is no need to impress me

a good cup of Joe                a decent bed         a good shit

maybe a hug         a kiss      a good tape

and the road whining beneath my tires

this is what fills my cup.

RD Armstrong