Silence

It’d be nice to pass St. Francis,
the neat old church,
hear chanting,
on and on,
forever and ever,
like God’s infinite mercy.

Progress

When they unname Sutter’s Fort,
They’ll think of what to do with it.
Decide on a nudist colony.
Where colonists pretend they’re Indians,
The original nudists.

Yellow Hair

Listened to a guy on the bus who looked like Custer,
Wore a hat like Custer’s,
Was full of shit like Custer.

Wore a black neckerchief with white peace signs.

Getting in Shape

Saturday morning
Women training in park
Making it hurt
Feeling the pain
Reminds me of Lombardi
The sweat. The toughness. The ritual. The mission. The drive.
The drive.
Drive Susie! Drive!!

They Painted Over It

Pink and blue letters,
Get Rich Be Humble.
Brought us down to earth.
Got us thinking.
We even liked it,
But it had to go.

Inspiration

Used to be a bench on the southeast corner of
Sutter’s Fort, where you could sit in the dark,
pretend the freeway was the ocean, dream
Sutter-like dreams.

Dog Park 19th Street

More smiles and laughter in one hour of one
day at this little prison-like dog park, than in
a City of Trees whose beauty we fear to reflect.

Passing the Dog Park

Never married.
No kids.
I refuse to get a pet to compensate for my lack of
courage to get a woman, my lack of wisdom
in not having children.
Every time I petted it I’d wish it was my wife.
Every time I came home and rough-housed
with it I’d wish it was my kid.
Every time it jumped on my bed, I’d wish there
was somebody to fuck.