trout

First Time in Berkeley

Jade Sunouchi

I watched homeless men
scarred by flame.
Rotting,
bare,
losing crumbs
and fingers
between teeth
of ammo-strapped
freedom squirrels
running pages
from The Daily Californian.
Men,
who calamity
and dirt-smeared
and aching tongue
ranted:
"Lolita,
which way
to Neverland?"
while contemplating
Jupiter
over muted crickets
from Telegraph.
Men,
who wrinkled dry eyes
to light,
drunk on American beer,
the afternoon sun stumbling
concrete walks
unending
cracked
crooked.
Men,
who fell
from Campanile bells
dreaming
dreaming
dreaming
of glossy women,
of Cheeseboard,
of hot marshmallows
bursting in creeks
weathered
from ecstasy
watered
with rainbows.
Men,
who sparked match light
in faces
of each passerby
outside Amoeba,
collecting quarters
and dollars
in Beanie Weenie cans
for exclusive
marijuana research.
Men,
who crouched in door frames
after nine,
heeding only
to the cold's
cramped fingerprint
and the cat bleeding
through its veins.