California Honeymoon, Day 1

(This prose poem first appeared in the anthology Irrepressible Appetites; Rock Press; 2002).

We landed in Los Angeles on Christmas Eve and ate dinner in McDonald's near LAX, where a homeless black man wearing shredded blue jeans and an Oakland Athletics sweatshirt sat with his newspaper and empty coffee cup. The manager, with his IBM haircut and mannequin shirt and tie, stood there, tapped his watch, said he would call the police. On the Rand McNally, me and my new wife explored Southern California, seeking the scenic routes to Venice Beach, Santa Monica, and Malibu. This happened years ago, and my marriage, well, that's another story, but sometimes I still wish I'd dug into my coat pocket and found my wallet beneath the car keys, the Hertz rental contract, and the glossy brochure from the Thousand Oaks Holiday Inn. I should have walked up to the counter, bought that man a Big Mac or a Quarter Pounder, a strawberry shake, and a large coffee, followed him as he stumbled across the drive-thru lane, beyond the parking lot and the trash dumpsters, and away into the cold, humid night. But instead I just sat there, staring helpless through the plate glass window as my new wife, bundled in her pink London Fog, scratched notes on a napkin, nibbled on her McChicken sandwich, her feet resting in new Rockports on the bench beside me, and for a moment, I held her hand over that highway map as we blazed a path along the San Diego Freeway, the 101, then west on Topanga Canyon Road, marking every mile with the crispy tip of a hot and salty French fry.

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