In the oxygen bath
of Ocean Beach, a wind’s swirling arms
shoved me back onto my ass.
Under a crushed seashell,
my heart slunk out across sand.
She slimed away
towards a rose garden
before the Dutch Windmill’s
swirling petal blades.
I sprinted inland
to grab a hunk of Alamo
Square grass.
Roots in hand,
I flipped my finger at the native glory
of the Painted Ladies’ sheen.
Did I scandalize
the four postcard temples?
A fanny pack tourist chuckled,
his money legs jogging over
for a selfie with my heartless frame
but I pushed him into a gutter.
I needed to find my red friend
lost within a grid
I couldn’t grapple.
Into a neighborhood I once lived
and now despise, I found her
sobbing on a Panhandle sidewalk,
a broken petal on her lips, she exclaimed
I saved some nectar for you.
I smiled and stuffed her
behind my ribs: she snuggled oh so warm
like a slug after a morning storm.