Poetry of Sausalito

If I leave you. Jerry told me that if he ever left me, he’d give me a 3-day notice and a parking pass. True to his word, he died three days later and, yes he left me his parking pass.

Finger Fog. It’s icy blue and piercing. It lays heavy ore the water. You can go into it, but you can’t see beyond two boat lengths. But if you look up you can see the stars.

Cafe Forestville. We bought the wine even before the weekend. The day loosely planned. A road trip with the 4-wheel and the dogs. The drive was a dichotomy of geography. The ocean on one side, the little mountain town on the other. Gourmet food prepared from the herb garden emitted enticing odours whetteing our appetite. A little of God’s heaven still lies in that cafe garden where we sat and ate lunch.

Puss E! Rubber boars go pssssssss when they leak. Is your rubber boat leaking?

Bugatti. Jerry told me he used to have a Bugatti. The little German racing car. ‘You know, the great handling car. Very advanced, performance plus in its day. Someday I’ll show it to you. Nice lines. Nice curves. And a single seater.’

Star Socks. Surprise! Star studded black socks now adorn his fishing pole. You can catch a glimpse of them by mornings light. He even caught her panties with his mouth and hung them on that there old fishing pole each night. Every morning held his last night’s delight. What a hard day’s night. Their love did tumble and fall into the night. Star socks on a fishing pole. What a sight!