Stan Is Stubborn
Once an inebriated stranger
in San Francisco on
the street in North Beach
said to me,
"Stan, is that you?"
"No," I said, "I'm sorry,
but I'm not Stan. "Oh," he
said, swaying delicately in
that way actors can never
capture, the white of his
eyes gone burgundy like
a Pacific sunset, "I was
afraid of that. . . . Stan
died 'n I guess he's gonna
stay dead. He always was
a stubborn son of a bitch."
Copyright 2011 Hans Ostrom
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