BOSTON

For the Californian,

San Francisco comes to mind .

But not so hilly,

Walkable.

But bricks, bricks, red bricks.

Omnipresent.

We’d have ‘em too except for ours

Being shattered and culled in epic quakes.

And so many Irish Pubs

And other old stuff.

“Benjamin Franklin was born on this spot.”

“Benjamin Franklin was baptized in this church.”

“Paul Revere rode through here.”

“Here, Alexander Graham Bell called for Mr. Watson.”

Those far-away mythical places in the Weekly Reader

Are real, afterall.

And there are the Red Sox.

You don’t have to see them to sense their presence:

They are on everyone’s lips:

The Red Sox doing battle against the Green Monster…

And against the Yankees, them damn’d Yankees.

Poetry | Boston