Old San Francisco
by A.D. Winans



Sprawled over a history of ghosts
Like a fat gypsy selling her wares
Past North Beach and the Waterfront
Past the streets of Nob Hill
Across the Embarcadero
Down to Fisherman's Wharf
And the nervous smell of Chinatown

But alas it's no good
Her children have left for
Sacramento and places further North
Her pulse is dying straining against
The wounds of refugees
Hiding their faces in the geography
Of her sores and blemishes

The ghost of the Barbary Coast
Playland and the Alcazar Theater
Hangs heavy in the air
Lefty O'Doul is dead
Ping Bodie is dead
Jack London and Steinbeck
Gone the way of the old Black Cat
The city of king and jazz
Reduced to a cold monument
Like a pair of aging six guns
Rusting in a frontier museum





Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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