San Francisco

Touching down at SFO I feel the turbulence

Of a city churning swiftly like the wind that wildly whips

Down the shoreline of the shining sea that stretches out of sight

That Balboa breathlessly beheld in dazzling delight

Hilly heights and valleys turned from wilderness to trails

And the advent of the auto turned those trails to thoroughfares through which

Tourists toting tripods take the trolley to the top

While wispy whiffs of warming weed are wafting where I walk

The sound of shoes that slap against the slightly sticky bricks

Meld with mellow melodies of jazz musicians on the block

Beams of morning sunshine gleaming off the Golden Gate

Echo rippling red reflections underneath the interstate