Past Ansel Adams-like “ticky, tacky, boxes,” Past the Fort Funston hundreds-of-dogs park, Over the hill to beautiful, backward Pacifica Beach.
Over the hazy hills, The only moving things Are the soaring seabirds.
Two margins frame the ocean: White boiling surf crashing on the Seawall and the foggy horizon; Weird white light just above the water. The sunset, scarlets, oranges and Purples that make you stare.
The seabirds whirl in the constant wind Scribing circle upon circle, Past the edge, out of sight.
On the sunrise side the coastal hills slope Steeply toward the waterfront and ocean. Providing a balance, a context, for The compact community.
On the promenade neighbors run, walk, Watch the water and each other, Talking, sharing news. Big families gather around picnic tables, Kids shouting and racing
Parallel to the seawall, the village, A strip two blocks wide, mostly Older cottages, reasonably well-maintained. The waterfront an Intricate part of village life.
Often more than a hundred people Crowd the quarter-mile long fishing pier Catching crabs in spring, salmon in the summer. I have heard here the greatest variety of languages, The smallest of wide worlds.
The ocean moves toward the seawall The seabirds are flying.
The Chit Chat Cafe sits at the foot Of the fishing pier next to the Promenade, the village gathering place. Mornings the cafe sells bagels with egg, And muffins with coffee, and bait for Fishing or crabbing (something rotten for crabs) People read the paper, sit at small tables.
Weekends the sidewalk barbeque serves Burgers, hotdogs, and chili, Picnic tables full of local folk, A man eating a sausage sandwich, Talking with the dozen people at the table about an Event at the community center, and the Warriors and local real estate purchases and Why old lady Sharpe gave the Sharpe Ranch To San Francisco.
It is foggy and misty, Twilight in the afternoon, And it will be foggy and misty. Seabirds sit quiet On the seawall.
Pacifica Beach, A sort of village that disappeared long ago, Surrounded by ocean, hills, fog, wind, and seabirds. A place with its own life.
