O'Farrell Street- San Francisco

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The stark reality of San Francisco's Tenderloin and most notorious streets, O'Farrell Street.

Submitted: August 03, 2011

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Submitted: August 03, 2011

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O’Farrell Street, San Francisco
 
Smoke twitches and weaves against the back of an ancient bus
A tourist struggles against the concrete, stumbling over his own vomit
Sirens pour immediately, beckoning to the night
The huildings bronzed with dirt, bandaged with coats of old paint
Nothing is static, the fear accelerates the scurrying pedestrians
They dart and dance like a manic game of chess
Against the night, against the piss on the sidewalks
Against the all consuming night, the dark of the slums
 
Paris stands behind the stripclub, used syringes left outside the trash
She used to be beautiful, her smile full of promise
Her smile has faded, as bleak as the streets she walks
She will fuck you for heroin
She wanted to be an actress
Now she just lies to herself
 
A tall silhouette slows his pace
With a walk that tells he’s for sale
He has a permed wig and stilettos
He thinks he was born to be a woman
And he turns tricks to pay for the operation
He’s almost saved two grand but he knows
That his new genitalia will be scarred, butchered
And that true love is unattainable
 
I sit on my balcony puffing at a rolled cigarette
Directly across from me is the stripclub, The O’Farrell Theater
The marquee reads “The Best Place in SF” –Playboy
And I think, Playboy must be full of shit
 


© Copyright 2020 Neil Stanoff. All rights reserved.

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