Bay Cruise, Wharf Life

The old sailors called it Frisco




A long day's voyage into evening,

Into the Flaneur's astrological sun sign of Leo

 Come along as we get right underway

1.
Heading Over

Just another technicolor day

Cinematic in its way

The extraordinary waters

We going up around the bend







2.
Welcome to Fisherman's Wharf




Jacket for a child

The Wharf attracts some of
 San Francisco's most discerning visitors




 

And no one ever went broke
Underestimating their taste
Or overestimating their patriotic pride

Very reluctant to refer to anyone as an a--hole,
The Wookie smelled like it rolled in dead fish

I told this old sea dog
If I wanted a Bay cruise
It's his funky boat I'd choose

San Francisco has a long-held welcome
For sea-faring eccentrics

3.
The National Park

At the Visitor's center desk,
Joey Know says I'm like Weegee lately
Weegee, Diane Arbus, Robert Frank, Charles Gatewood
I covers the waterfront

Kinetic sand-painting
Each waves creates a different work,
I had my lunch out of the wind again
On the Hyde Street Pier niche beach

No shredding

Did you know that the Pier
Has the home of an old sea captain
That some believe is haunted?



4.
Seance on a Summer Afternoon




The Captain's table

The priapic Captain Endicott,
He kept nine wives,
The eye is the window to his lost soul

Said to be something of a strange bedfellow
He provided well for his wives
And he expected their faithful service
When he was on land

After many an hour spent smoking a black pipe
His lions came back to life

The wives slept two to a bed
Only one at a time shared his chamber
In a sort of domestic tag team






The spectral shower,
As Mr Hitchcock once said, "it happened in here,"
Early one morning the insatiable goat
Was found murdered in his bath,
An intruder was mentioned,
No one was ever charged with the crime

People say his gory corpse
Haunted the place for many years,
Some say he is haunting here still

5. Outdoor Life

Ship-building takes place here

Not some dusty moribund exhibit
Rather a productive workshop

Its products represent
Fine works of an ancient art

Time for me to get on my pony and ride,
Dig the sturdy motorcycle flag,
Aren't you glad to be in America?




6.
Peaking at the Beach

A sparkling high tide meets the Leo sun

I rejoiced to relax in lush green grass,
So precious in our water-short Summer

If I happen to run into a Dungeness
Taking a stroll on the municipal pier,
He's going in my backpack, sorry

Do you know the way to blue?
Looking back the way I came
Mr Wind dancing on the water

Onward, up hill, to Fort Mason

Leaving sea level behind,
Reading the fractal-like designs
Of God and man

Flanked by a precipitous plunge

Reaching the wild parts of the Bay

The ineffable vista,
Mists suffused with sunlight,
The bridge evanescent and rematerial






7.
Return Trip

Did somebody get a new logo
With funds from Homeland Security?

Something fishy about this enhanced Asian,
Like he hulked-up at Balco lab

All the way back through yonder slot

Shadows have now overtaken,
My lush green spot

Bikes border on nuisance
This time of the year

The crowd calls out for more

Tourists don't expect our chilly Summer
Apparel and alcohol sell themselves

Name your poison, really,
This place vends candy dresses and poopy pop

Evening arrives like a sudden street car,
Other people are other worlds

Take for example a Negro painted silver,
He muscle spots me
Tells him to go "get the money"
A demand I firmly decline

Fortunately some people hold themselves to a higher standard





Pier 39

Surfer Joe, product
Of European migratory adaptive strategy

They're attempting to control my mind,
The difference between high kitsch,

And low kitsch
Is arbitrary and insignificent,
As post-modernism has taught us

The ethereal East bay is calling me,
Every swell reminds me of a leonine shoulder.
A steely tide of lions

20 July 2015