So many pieces of the puzzle, there is no need to hide

but they were lost, caught in nets on Pier 39

Like an unfaithful son on the day of his bride

the colours of this city run and they rhyme

Pollock might say its a bit of a daub

until each piece he numbered

Pasted my memories in a red, paper book

there, all bands all should have names like Doctor Hook,

Flying Burrito Brothers, Jefferson Airplane

Hate was spelt Haight in that part of town

and the clever kids all wore a Berkeley frown

Nathalia my friend she dressed in a sexy gown

We walked for miles up and down and there

across the green in pastel colours

that row of little houses, little boxes

A little Malvina Milder/Reynolds maybe loved

when she was a small Jewish daughter

wandered into the famous Chinese quarter

Union Square and Macy’s, the photo’s are coming fast

We take a trip out to the Bridge

don’t drive too fast or blink, in this mist

even International Red will blur

and that massive Bay is slipping past

No time for Vertigo or to take a Bullitt for the team

In hippie land, now a spiring concrete forest,

or among those massive Redwoods

on the other side, its still the best place you can dream

If little cable cars don’t quite drive you to the stars

if your tired hop on, the corporation

will not charge you until you sing Your Song

The corporation will not warn you of the people down below

the street of shame where each dog born had a different name

yet now in cardboard, rags and jumble they sound the plain same

Step out on the street over homes and yet your room was cute

high-ceilinged estate, ornamental cornice,

bed linen tasteful, great, without a crease,

Air conditioned, sound-proofed, high windows barred

you could be living now on Mars

except your worried as you walk the line

Those inhabitants of boxes down the lane

those aliens of shame

will get in your face again

let the booze loose

exhalate their pain

So we sat one night in John’s Grill to consider where we’d been

what we had seen, with 2 free glasses of water



About edenbray

I'm a writer ... I write .. . I’m not sure why I ever stopped, was it 9/11? .. . edenbray is born ugly, wet and covered in blood, mucous and bodily functions ~ the effluence of my short life .. . I am a Writer and Artist since 1966 - I'm an avid Blogger ~ I write lots of poems, written essays, articles, reviews, opinion + comment .. . I have had many poems selected for Anthologies of verse and recently have published many of my poems in 24+ themed booklets ... please ask for details - join the shebang by leaving me a marker with a 'like' or a comment for my ego and encouragement and thanks for listening - I really value your interest ~ edenbray
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