HITCH
-She stands on Sunset,
a tanned thumb in search of a ride.
-Urge, time & place
seem right.
I stop, open the door…
“I’m going to the Strip,”
she says…
-We pass Western, Vine, Highland –
she looks spent,
curled in the seat,
an unwound clock spring…
-The Beach Boys sing Surfing Safari…
her vacant look seems to say,
“I need a shot”…
-I scratch…
-“I won’t try anything,
I tell myself,
some other time…
who knows?
maybe tomorrow,
between tokes, sweet talk
& incense sticks,
I could trade her two downs
for my one up.
-Tomorrow stays a day away.
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1970