North Beach Crazy

I stood at the corner
waiting for the light to change.
Head pointing toward the sky,
a month's worth of clouds formed
and diminished before my eyes.

The Transamerica pyramid to the left of me,
the old Transamerica building to the right.
Two beautiful smiling girls stood at the entrance
of what is now the Church of Scientology.
One of sunny blond hair;
the other pale and of dark brown.
Black sweaters and white collars
and all kinds of crazy behind those smiles.

I walk towards the dim sum restaurant
and wonder if they eat dim sum too.
Black sweaters white collars gotta eat.
Gotta mail letters and water their lawn.
Black sweaters white collars gotta brush their teeth,
watch the news or turn it off.
Do they smile at the DMV,
or when they do their taxes?
Will they smile in a mass suicide
when their god tells them:
this is The End.

Beatniks once charged down this street;
later hippies and yuppies too.
But now I am on this street
among the power hungry,
the mad,
like my Barbary Coast-dwelling ancestors.
But now I fear Volcano God worshipers
in black sweaters and white collars.