There was glass cut like diamonds
That turned skeleton-keyed doors
There were Fresh fruits and vegetables (ready to eat)
At the grocery stores...
There was milk on the doorsteps
The honey and kids were safe at home.
But this place is offended by a poem?
After WW2 my father was a bit of a Bob Hope.
And gave shelter to vets.
One of them showed me the healed bullet wounds in his legs.
And said this;
"He who is humble shall be exalted".
Never forgot that.
Gave me a bayonet too.
Now to this moment of deep reflection
Every place I visited a crowd gathered. Tea House, Cliff House, and the old houses that I knocked on the door to see if my old friends were still there.
Invited me in
To hear the old stories.
Because that's what people come to San Francisco for.
And they always will.