Guardian Angels

J Church

sparks away

from 18^th

after eight hours

of the Financial District

paper maze.

I walk

to gather thought

for a night

in the City.

Mission High School

hides street light

leaving its sharp edge

of shadow across

a November night.

Sidewalk spots

of dropped gum,

and teenage spit

desiccate into odors

of faint mint.

Church Street

and Dolores Park

run empty except

for the click

of my shoes.

San Francisco

and I

are looking

for dinner.

A black and white

police cruiser

at my left elbow

stops,

it’s window

sliding down

seductively.

Two policemen,

the driver resting

his right arm along

the seat back,

strangely intimate

with his partner’s shoulders,

the partner,

laying a uniformed arm

along the window track

ask,   

“You seen any fags?

You have to be careful, you know.

They’re all over the place.”

Like insects and litter.

bored policemen,

harass a solo evening walk,

drive quickly away,

when a flight

of Guardian Angels

come into view.