The poet visits Austin for the first time.

Never do Austin alone
6th Street was meant to be shared
by couples or conventioneers
spilling out from the Omni or Hilton

all wearing IDs on lanyards like mine
writers and crafters of words
secure in bonded groups
drawn by the scent of 6th Street

pizza by the slice from storefronts
country music wafting from smoky maws
close by canyons of steel and glass
while below the suits head west.

Carriages carry lovers east
toward truths tattooed in skin
or take wine and seafood etouffee
at the Old Pecan Street Café

where only waiters see

the single soul adrift

crossing the street against the grain
of poet Thomas Lux
engaged in animated chat
with someone from another gig

but passes like the moment

gone.

I ponder ten blocks to the Capitol
but know it’s locked by now
so I lean on a lamp
and watch the line across the street

slam poets waiting
to bray their souls:
iambic Texas rap.

At last I stoop to a vending machine
plug coins for a Dallas Morning News
the single traveler’s Texas fix
turn back for one last pass through 6th
gaze above high patios

of pouring pitchers bare biceps
and burnt orange Texas tees
to seek my compass needle
the Hilton sign a silent plea:

Never do Austin alone.
Never do Austin alone.