San Francisco

Do you remember, as I, San Francisco
but of course you do, for who at all
could forget a 400 mile dusty drive
delayed, hungry, singing – but to arrive
at a pink sunset, to see stacked homes
the rolling concrete of Northern California
the only town here I could make a home
reminiscent in leaning pastels of my own
with crumbling coast, darkest undertones
San Francisco, I’ve an irreverence
a respectful fear for your pink skies
our explorations, late night shows
a pool house, a plane ride, that I at 14
would never have predicted. Had you said
that the longest drive of my youth
could lead me, so gratefully
into the pink sunset arms
of my brief and dear San Francisco
I wouldn’t have heard a word



Filed under Poetry

2 responses to “San Francisco

  1. I love it!
    And I love San Francisco, you’ve captured it wonderfully here.

    Very similar in writing style to that of Allen Ginsberg.

  2. Love this! My favorite city.

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