Envying the Children of San Francisco

At a city square

Children laughing in the red

Sweaters of Catholics,

As they walk home between trucks

And sunlight angled off buildings that end in points.

I'm holding an apple, between shoppers

Clutching bags big enough to sleep in,

And the air is warm for October-

Torn pieces of paper

Scuttling like roaches, a burst at a time.

The children are blond,

Shiny, and careful at the lights-

The sister with her brother's hand.

They cross looking

At their watches, and I cross

Because I want to know where

They're going, what door they'll push

Open, and call home-

The TV coming on,

Milk, a cookie for each hand.

As a kid I wanted to live

In the city, in a building that rose above it all,

The gray streets bursts open, a rattle

Of jack hammers. I wanted to

Stare down from the 18th floor, and let things go-

My homework for one, a paper plane

With a half-drawn heart and a girl's name.

I wanted to say that I ate

And slept, ate and slept in a building

That faced other buildings, a sliver of sea

Blue in the distance.

I wanted to hear voice

Behind walls, the click-click of a poodle

Strolling to his bowl-a violin like fingers

Running down a black board.

I wanted to warm my hands at a tea-kettle

And comb my hair in an elevator, my mouth

Still rolling with cereal, as I started off

For school, a row of pens in my shirt pocket.

Back home at the window

I wanted it to be December-

Flags and honking cars,

A Santa Claus with his pot, a single red

Balloon let go and racing skyward,

And the tiny mothers who would come around

Buildings, disappear, and come around again,

Hugging bags for all they were worth to children.