Copyright © 2010 by Michael Corob. All rights reserved.
Stripe in Frisco
Stripe came to San Francisco to see the Golden Gate Bridge.
He didnít want to go on the bridge:
that would be crazy.
All those cars going fast in all directions,
honking, noisy, going fast.
He wanted to hold the bridge in his sights:
see the gently sweeping sides climbing to a pleasant peak,
then rolling leisurely down the other side.
Stripe could imagine climbing up and down the bridge
in the stillness of the night,
if there was only him, no cars, of course.
In the stillness he could pounce from his terrace
to a close by rooftop,
then slink from one flat to another,
finding jewels and tasty morsels along the way.
It would be great fun to walk along
the flower potted window sills,
and to peer inside
at silhouettes of all shapes and sizes.
And oh, the smells he could imagine:
rich and spicy, from far away places,
yet all right here.
Stripe was glad he came to San Francisco
to see the Golden Gate Bridge,
and to marvel at her simple elegance.
She represents a connection from here to there,
from the known to the unknown.
Stripe didnít want to go across the bridge,
or even leave his safe rooftop haven.
The view, with all its marvels and possibilities
Copyright © 2010. by Michael Corob. All rights reserved.
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