Southward bound
A latte grande on the seat
Between my legs.
All around,
I see the saints,
I see the dregs.
And the byproducts of civilization
Enter, exit from stage left, stage right.
Another monument
To the elusive and mysterious
Honolulu Harry,
The richest man I know.
Honolulu Harry,
The richest man in this life
Or the next.
Through the town,
Sometimes with baggage,
Some without,
Making a livelihood.
Up or down,
Any direction that you choose
And among the fast foods, strip malls and traffic,
There’s that name again as plain as day.
Harry was certainly rich,
But it only was money.
Very few liked him that much.
Now it seems kind of funny.
Just the sound
Of his name spoken with respect
And reverence that’s owed to him,
Brings to mind
Beneficence
Without a peer.
And it warms the heart to think of the thousands
Harry helped, but not while he was here.
What do you think? Tell me at
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