Passport And Pen In Pocket
S
Susan Lacovara
0
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He was happy in Sausalito
Till Paris looked prettied
In the Spring
The quaint cafes
Cluttered with faces of strangers
He imaged he could love
The night lights
Though decorating his thoughts
Illuminated his sorrows as well
Maybe San Francisco would be kinder
The smell of fish and fantasy
To give his heart new harbor
From the hilly streets
He scooped a cat
To stroke, when all his barricades burst
When the trolley car of hope derailed
He headed East to heal in New England
And found the snow fell like tears
What better than to tan again
The South of France and her display
Of perfect bodies on the beach
But comes the breach of loneliness
Passport and pen in pocket
And love poems left to write
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