I felt the rumble of the highway at Cesar Chavez,
And visited shopping cart homes of dwellers below.
I saw mechanics and glue-sniffers South of Van Ness.
I skipped over blankets and sleeping bags.
I saw pushchairs and peddlers on lower Valens,
And grocers greet Gringos in the heart of The Mission.
I saw black-clad Hipsters and thrifters roll in,
School kids squeezed out of old Notre Dame.
I saw sunglasses and queers on Castro at Muni,
Nude posers and tourists at Harvey's Great rainbow.
I felt the incline of the streetcar at Market and 18th,
I smelt pines and hosepipes on Twin Peaks Boulevard.
I saw parents push prams at Ashbury, old home,
I saw cafés and the bourgeois at Carlton and Cole,
Chihuahuas and ices in the Valley at Frederick.
Skaters and smokers gather in Golden Gate Park.
Pitchers play catch in the hollow Academy basin.
I pass joggers and strollers and mighty trees all the way,
The Old Dutch Windmill fills my nose with sea air,
A naff Motel reminds me of Blackpool, or a film.
Brave-faced surfers grab a cold sundown swim,
And grim campers line the Great Ocean Highway.
Back up Fulton where two Harleys roar by,
Busfulls of students in their leggings with books.
I meet Kerouac's kids at the entrance to Haight,
Eyes glazed over, on dope or a trip.
Wanderlust hobos all set in their ways,
Panhandling and pushing for food and their vices.
I hit Hayes and the tip of the dirty Tenderloin,
Where jacked up eyes look manic and forlorn.
I slog past the highway, cut back to the Bay,
Where roads get wider and buildings more plain.
The sun comes down purple, in a haze at 16th,
It's dark in the wasteland, a place I'd rather not be.
Big box buildings and locked, iron-clad gates,
Rub with wide-open car parks and concrete disgraces.
I meet a drunken old pair, scuffling their feet,
And a Chinaman curled in a doorway with no shoes.
Offices and glass obscure my view of Bay Bridge,
I glance at the Dogpatch, and move right on by.
I swing right around Portrero, get lost for a while,
Back under the freeway, no streetlights and all.
Whistles from the terraces welcome me home.
I feel like I ran the world today.
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