Sunny day in the Mission. My friends and I joke
By the old movie hall--the church still dark,
Unrestored, not yet hipster-polished unto
Cacaphony bar with brass microbrew.
Guess I boasted a bit. My friend the giraffe
Loses patience: "At your viewpoint I laugh!
No-neck petty." Grabs my hoodie in teeth,
And lifts me seventeen heart-thumpin' feet
Up. Seventeen? Yes, I know precise height
For we constantly tease him about it. He's right.
Till sixteen, I see just our neighborhood row,
And friends--Smokin' Swan, Thriftshop Doe,
And Refugee Fox. But at final extend,
Twanging himself like a tan rubber band,
Guru Giraffe uplifts me to see
Over the viewblocking rep-house marquee.
Miles in a burst! Mountains, clouds, towers
Downtown where those dicks flaunt capital-power.
Iron smiles span the bay. Horizons don't grow
Smoothly out as we climb! First blind, then aglow,
I blurt "Sorry, Raff. I just didn't know."
Giraffe sets me down like a kitten. Now I
Need a grimoire--find a spell so I'll fly
At will--loft at least--just a Mission balloon.
Need broad vision more! For a brief dose alone
Won't cure your narrows. To know the world, you
Need to stick out your neck. Heads up! Giraffe view.