that
afternoon
we street-snacked
our way
around Fisherman's Wharf
and close environs...
the
one condition
being
we'd only have foods
that began
with the letter P...
our accompanist
....the dark-blonde-dredlocked one-man-band....
we got back home...
sticky, tourist-jostled
and
laughing....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem