by Dan Campion

“Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Poet Who Nurtured the Beats, Dies at 101”
—The New York Times

When I barged in his office door
Admitting North Beach traffic’s roar,
A stranger from the Middle West
In beard and jeans and rawhide vest,
He might have simply said, “So long,”
And who’d have thought him in the wrong?
Instead, he gave me such a look
As you might guess who’ve read the book
I held out, nerves in disarray,
Forgetting what I’d meant to say,
My heart in Tilt-a-Whirl dismay,
And with a smile both beat and kind
Dear Lawrence Ferlinghetti signed
A Coney Island of the Mind.