San Francisco Street Poet meets Wisconsin

Heading out for an early evening walk...lots of tourists waiting for the Cable car on Powell Street.  Really fine jazz music rolling out from the Jazz club on Ellis.  Recognize the doorman/bouncer from John's, the restaurant in the famous spy thriller, The Maltese Falcon.  Still in business...hear they serve a mighty martini!

At the corner, a 60-something gentlemen approaches. I smile. He smiles. He's a little frayed around the edges but clean and pleasant.  "I"m a street poet," he announces.  "May I share some of my poetry with you?"

"I love poetry!  Absolutely."  I stop to listen.
His poem is about the mind and heart...something like "My mind goes out into the world to discover...my heart goes out into the world to love..."  He does a little "namaste" style bow at the end and asks me for "a contribution."

Now, I don't give money to anyone.  YWAM discourages giving money....crack cocaine can be bought for less than $1.  Alcohol for $2. Meals are available 3x daily across the street at Glide Church.  giving money may not actually be helpful or loving.

But, here is this lovely poet.  This beat poet, old-guy poet, sharing lovely ideas about hearts and minds.  What can I say?

"I don't give money to anyone," I reply.  "I"m sorry, but I don't....could I give you a poem in return?"

He looks surprised.  "Sure...Yeah.  Let's hear it..."

The only thing that comes to mind is a treasure from Elizabeth Rooney, a Wisconsin farmer and small-town lover of people and the land:

"I haven't cleaned the cellar
I forgot to sweep the stair
and there's an old, arthritic lady whom I should uphold in prayer
Yet here I sit in the moonlight
the moonlight
the moonlight
adoring you, God, in the moonlight,
as if I have no care."

elizabeth Rooney is perfect for the Tenderloin. She invites you into the simple. Into the moment. She has no fancy answers or complicated theology.  She only has beauty. And the promise of God to show up and love. 

The poet and I bowed to each other.  He laughs. "Thank you," he said.  "Thank you," I replied.
I headed toward Market Street thinking of a quiet table and a little dinner.
He toward the tourist stop - perhaps hoping for something beside a poem about God and moonlight from the next poetry lover.