A trucker in a giant red rig
blows Strauss waltzes
down California Street.
A man with dulled black eyes
stares at me from a doorway
of cardboard and plastic—
I am the intruder.
A woman, rolled in a blanket
of faded orange, brown, and yellow,
makes a spitting noise
as I go past.
An old couple walk by slowly,
bodies just touching—he in a tweed
sports jacket and cherry-red vest,
she in black, smelling of lavender,
tottering, a little, on immaculate
They are on a date in the city—
the city that smells of money
and garbage, of earthquakes
and exhaust, of urine and pigeons