TENDERLOGUE: JONATHAN HIRSCH

(Photo Courtesy of Julie Michelle @ iliveheresf.com)

DEAR MS. TENDERLOIN

Dear Ms. Tenderloin

Monday morning.

The sun hasn’t

Shone in my window

In a week.

The other night there was a flash of light,

Then an explosion on O’Farrell Street…

Later gunshots

This is not

A social commentary.

Dear Ms. Tenderloin

Drinking a bottle of Andre

On a Saturday night

When a fire broke out

In front of the bar

With the password

And the dress code

I went out there in my sweatpants

And a to-go cup

Just as the firefighters were

Winding their hoses up

And all the suits

On the manicured corner

Of Jones Street

Looked like they were

Trying to avoid the gaze of a ghost

As they stood outside the bar

Puffing their cigarettes

Into the cheap air

Fixated on some arbitrary point

In the distance

Like trained performers

Did we smile together there? It felt like old times.

Dear Ms. Tenderloin

I thought you were mine

But last night I saw you dancing

With cocaine in the doorway

Of the Lincoln Hotel

His powdery lips bunched up against yours

His vim in your bloodstream

Like sperm swimming upstream

Can you hear me when I talk to you like this?

Sometimes I think you can,

But it has been so long since I felt at home

In your arms.

I was younger, this is true

And I quickly became enamored

With everything about you

I spent my sunrises on your floors

Picking out a tune

That the neighbors on the other end

Of the air shaft sang along to

Sitting on their kitchen floor

And I walked out the front door

As you slowly came to

Your arms tattooed

With cross-town traffic.

Dear Ms. Tenderloin

I shoveled pizza into my face at 1:30 in the morning

I spun around on a smoke blanketed dance floor

Bright dresses, buttoned collars in the bomb shelters

Of backroom clubs

Made love to strangers

With the graceless ineptitude

Of a virgin

All to be nearer to you

I thought we had an understanding

And was so relieved to return to you

After getting hustled out of a twenty

For a bag of weed I never wanted

By a bus boy in Chinatown

Whose remaining teeth

Must have been erected on landfill

Before the big earthquake hit

And my lover and I sit

Leaning out on a ledge

Overlooking Shannon Alley

And I watched you slide your sad fingers

Up the shirt of an old girl

In a goodwill miniskirt

With embroidered pearls on it

And you gave her a panged relief

That was feverish and bittersweet

A covenant of madness

That made it easier for her

To spill her guts back out

Onto the street

And you sponged them up

Propelled by the heavy rain

They swirled down the drain

Into the bowels of your wide belly

Stop yourself if you’re thinking of telling

Me that everything and nothing is the same

I know this is true, but I’m not a tourist

And somehow still I am not a part of you.

Ms. Tenderloin

Perhaps you have endeavored to love us all equally

You are San Francisco’s statue of liberty…

But sometimes I look at these streets

And feel like the runt of the litter

Clamoring to feed on the busy sacrifice

Of your defeated body

Do you hear that?

William Bell

Is singing

To a two-step

Out of

The speakers

Facing the window

Of a

Twelve story

Tenement

On Geary

Street:

“You don’t miss your water, till your well runs dry”

I’m not altogether sure

If I’m hungry anymore

Exiting the liquor store

I spill my change onto the street

And don’t pick it up