Just let the San Andreas
stay put, keeping this tunnel
intact, enough to amble

out of it, past Louie’s Dim
Sum a Saturday afternoon,
breeze detectable off

the bay—visible in the distance,
carrying with it the smells
of open air markets:

crab freshly caught
and seahorses piled
in bins along Stockton...

or Jack, strolling out of the tube
connecting Polk Gulch
and North Beach—on his way

to Aquatic Park to spread
the Sporting Green
on his favorite patch of grass...

He is ferrying the portable
radio to his ear
listening for the count

in the bottom of the ninth
at Candlestick,
begins to smooth

the pages with his palms
before he sits
to keep it dry: the split

seat of his pants

for Jack Spicer (1925–1965)

© 2004, Francisco Aragón

This poem first appeared in Jacket #26.

Francisco Aragón is the author of Puerta del Sol (Bilingual Press, 2005). His poems and translations have appeared in various print and web publications, including Chain, Chelsea, Crab Orchard Review, The Journal, Jacket, and various anthologies. He currently directs Letras Latinas, the literary program at the Institute for Latino Studies at the University of Notre Dame. A native of San Francisco and long-term resident of Spain, he currently resides in South Bend, Indiana.

• Puerta del Sol
  

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