San Francisco’s finest son

Too bad about Robert Frost,

He packed up and left.

70 years later perpetual teenagers came west.

Oh how I lost!

Mrs. Ruth

May we glory in Ruth’s power.
Swing for the fences in life.
Have the manliness to cower.
When we see our neglected wife.

Married in park.
In view of capitol.
Knowing God’s love is law.

Woman with son says:
Stand in front of the roses so I can take your picture.
Hurrying past the roses he points:
I want to see the grenade.

A great place for a pool.
Lined with orange trees.
Capitol in background.
Maxfield Parrish beauties distant as the sun.

Late winter sun makes brick bathroom look pretty.
Tempting you to touch. Linger. Expand your peace.
But you know better.

Looking at oranges on a tree,
I wonder if they are as sweet as they are pretty,
And why we don’t smile when we’re dressed up.

Compelled to linger,
Admire beauty,
Marvel at inspiring architecture,

One realizes one has to go, but everything’s closed.

So you leave.
Unfree.
Full of pee.

Night air laden with orange blossoms,
Bicyclists fill with lust.
Pedaling aimlessly.
Longing for someone’s fragrance.

Out of place here at the capitol,
Cats scared and skinny stalk plump squirrels –
Apples of lunchtime eyes.