City
of Pluck and Backbone
In San Francisco, city of pluck
and backbone
I had an apartment above 16th
Avenue, light blue
With cheap regal applique and
brass numbers
Across from the lean brick face
that hid the sun
Where a kitty promenaded the fire
escape rail
Years later, working down the
Peninsula in Palo Alto
I introduce myself to a new hire,
lives in the City
“Oh where?” I ask. “Inner
Sunset,” she tells me
“Really, I used to live there.
What street?” “16th Ave”
She says. “I was on 16th
Avenue!,” I say. She asks,
“What address?” “1345.” “The blue building, right?
“I’m right across the street!”
“You’re in the brick?”
“I once yelled at a woman in the
brick building
For letting her cat go out onto
the fire escape!"
Big yelling voice, Italian style,
out my window
Needless to say, after that
interchange, working
With the woman was less inspired. In fact,
Awkward. I thought her stupid. To
her I was rude
She told me it did fall; hurt its
backbone. Years
Later, still limping a bit, I am happy
to hear.
I could walk the streets of the
City for a year
Searching out irresponsible pet
owners, yell
At each of them, yet never see a
single one
Again, much less come to work
with them
Daily reminder of my public face:
Guido
Urban dwelling yeller, Kitty Avenger
Wondering how Karma, how kindness
Come back to one, to all things
living
On salaries or fire escapes,
until we fall
