The Castro, San Francisco. A poem by Thomas Rogers Muyunga Mukasa

The Castro, San Francisco

I strolled at a slow pace to warm my heart,
I traversed the streets to reach that place,
from 24th to 16th Street, the steps quickened,
I made a left turn to get to the effulgent Castro,
The Castro beckons, flaunts it, is seductive,
it jests, streets to it a major harlequinade,
life is the clown and expression the harlequin,
a wind blown poster has a naked picture of a person,
with butt cracks skimpily hidden by a thong,
a tonsured couple walk leisurely hand in hand,
effusive age-indeterminates hug each other excitedly,
a bill-board announces a leather and jock event,
3 piece suit clad officials wait their turn,
at a restaurant that seems already full,
the street side is a stage on which acts are played out,
commerce, cinema,wining, dining are but remission phases,
the storied levels house the bedrooms,
the street level is where there is jostling and bustling,
2 pairs of eyes bore into each other, tears well,
lips touch each other and open up in a love expression,
part of a script I suppose,
the cleanliness, the openness and joviality,
it is contagious, almost scaring and gnomic,
this small part of San Francisco is iconic,
it is its own festivity, economy and home,
those who sip of its drink have fond memories,
the Castro, warms many hearts, 
San Francisco is a large garden of flowers,
the Castro is the red, yellow, purple and pink thistles,
the Pacific and Castro make a fine garland.


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