The City

THE CITY

The city heaves her
ample breasts and exhales the
vitality of her commuters.
Bridges of hair run like
fingers out across
the Bay, around islands:
Angel. Treasure. Alcatraz:
a rock laying near my
Lady. Her curves
rolling hills and thrust up
out. Coit. A tower thrust amongst
shining rooftops, glinting
mirrored up off towards
clouded fog surrounding
her. Lombard, a crooked
spine interrupting the
beauty back
forth
forth
back

Her back as different
Unique as she is. Her
Red hair
Reaching
To Sausolito
to sail boats
North to Napa
South to Santa Cruz,
Monterey. Her
History, womanhood
births the culture of
California. Her earthquakes
vomit life
from Haight to
The Gate, going down
The Bay to Monterey
and back to Chinatown
where Vesuvius stood
Near “Howl”
where Larry & Jack
drank Lagers &
wrote of your beauty
as my west coast City.
You sink down, sideways
into the sand as
saltwater laps
as sea lions play
along your skin
tickling you,
My lady, My City.