Chai (for Scottie Robbins)

I would sit with you
again on indurate curb in
front of the tea shop,
where you taught me to drink chai tea,
heavy with cream, topped with cinnamon

I would watch with you,
as the Pacific swallowed laden sun

good Santa Cruz sun,
harboring no illusions among hippies
and literalists, so different from foggy naked prophets
of Telegraph Avenue…

there were no musings
like Beach Street musings,
double-reinforced cups in loose fist,
watching the girls chase
tans among heat mirage of sand

now, there’d be no need to try and score in San Lorenzo park,
behind oleanders, stepping carefully
around drying condoms used hypodermics

Amused, I recall the night
we ran through sea caves
hundreds of feet
arched above rocky cliff
waving flashlights and chasing
silhouettes stalking youthful madness into mottled corners,
alternating between fear of wind and hum and throat of waves

this time, there would be no need
to chase chalky apparitions
of remaining high…

only the mellow imperative liquid musing

of chai … finely constructed dreams