The art of Being in San Francisco

The choir of seagulls,
they gather at dock of Fisherman’s Wharf.

The royal red crab lay there still.
The clackety ‘ol streetcar heard up the hill.

The coldest Bay in July.
The coldest day in July.

The street poet tells an urban lore
The scene for those who dare be poor.

The cigarette ban at Union Square.
The street musicians wear yesterday’s hair.
The lucid hour of gummy bear test.
The late night harlots looking their best,

    • on the prowl for a squirrely date,
    • they fade in clouds at golden gate.

The moving stars in their park.
The world explained in our dark.

The colorful wind at the corner of Haight,
The groovy fashion that hued our sight.

Uber to North Beach and City Light Books,
The country that craves with catchy hooks.

The poet’s corner at Columbus street
Ginsberg and Howl the folks want to meet.

The red light Macs down at the pier,
The tech geeks sleek buildings appear.

Getting hitched down the Cabrillo.
The Sunset union reflects us,
The Pacific craggy hills chase us,
the beauty of the San Francisco billow.

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