saturday

Becoming San Francisco

Through tenebrous streets
misnamed for tenderloins
I slink to the heart of the city for figs,
hoping to have enough left over for wine.
Scaling the stench and disarray of
Putrid personal collections
built from video cassettes, old suitcases,
and other rain soaked sidewalk garbage
peddlers reach for
for the outlined coins in my pockets,
giving themselves away.

Heavy-hearted and grimaced
I find it harder to leave home each time.
Instead, I rosy my cheeks with the wine
cling to my lofty tenement
lie down beside you
and wait for the warm.