San Francisco II

Although it’s all visually familiar

the city only

                        feels like home

In the Tenderloin.

                                    Leavenworth St.’s “got

that home beat,” that

Je ne sais quoi

                        on the edge

of desperation. Transsexual

with a laptop on the sidewalk

purse open: smokes, blankets,

and that smell bathrooms

                                                were built

to neutralize.

                        Sometimes places

are hard to get to because

they’re even harder to get out of.

This lowlife

                        misses

                                    the camaraderie

                                    of abject survival. After all,

smiles are brighter

                                    against

                                    your suburban misery,

                                    Mr. Jones—

where it all happens without you

and my head is the only

                                                incongruity,

since all the places it carries around

only bring me home 

to the cool, gray city

                                                of love.

June, 2016

San Francisco