Crooked Street, Like Your Heart By Trish Saunders

 

I waited a couple of ice ages for you, before giving up

to watch golden headlamps chase each other
down Lombard Street, famous Frisco
hairpin crush, back
when I thought we fitted together
like the 7UP can under your heel,
the Seagram’s bottle
sticking up from weeds.

I thought we co-depended perfectly,
two stunted begonias in one cracked
clay pot on your front porch
watching, enviously, the cars!
racing down Lombard Street.

Trish Saunders lives in Seattle. She has poems and short fiction
published or forthcoming in Chiron Review, Main Street Rag, Gargoyle, the late lamented Fat Damsel Review, and here in the Rye Whiskey Review.