Sausalito

by Thomas Boyd

The talk this morning is about the weather
And the eyes of dogs in the sun on the deck in California
There were dreams
About being left behind
And about being powerless
But those dreams are gone now in the sun

The low steady hum of traffic up the hill
Coming and going through the rainbow tunnel
The highway to the redwoods and farther north
The highway that connects the rest of the world
To the big red bridge

The house is dry wood and when the wind comes up
There are creaks and pops and other complaints
That are natural in a house turning fifty
And a house that has been drenched, blown dry
And baked a hundred times

The green hill below the deck almost, but not quite
Hides another dozen houses
And most of them are just as dry and tired
But the sound of cutting and hammering
Promises a second chance
But not this house because the man
Died a few years ago and the woman
Is a poet
And those days are gone now
In the sun