Tuesday Poem

The kind ones admire the water
The wise ones admire the mountains
I am mostly interested in this city.
San Francisco playing itself.

Do you recognize it? It was done before we were undone.
Like two escalators running in parallel
but people are only going up on one side.

Two blocks downhill it has been raining for hours.
I cross to an island of upmarket hotels
surrounded by hospitality workers on strike.
Mostly women, slamming loudly on metal drums.
Joan of Arc in raincoats.

Summer is long gone
and the rain in San Francisco is damaged.

I heard of a place called Tenderloin; the name appealed but
everyone advised not to go. I avoided it but found it around every corner.
A small community of tents and standing in front a man fixed in a silent
scream. A woman standing on the corner, dripping wet from the rain, like
an ice statue being burned at the stakE

The rain in San Francisco is frozen.

When leaving I saw a man on a roof building a sail from white cloth. Or was
it a flag.