Litquake season here and in full swing in San Francisco and so we will be featuring some of the poets who will be participating in this year’s Litquake. Today’s poem is brought to you by Bay area poet, multimedia artist, and film maker Thomas Dunn.
Thomas Dunn is a poet, mulitmedia artist, and filmmaker living right here in San Francisco.
Should’ve kissed you
Should’ve kissed you right there in the Pan-Handle that night. Headlights fluttered across your face. The soft orange from the streetlamp chandeliered above—you leaned, cross-legged against a green pole with traffic-lights rattled by the rush. I wanted to puke. Thought my head was going to wildfire if I didn’t kiss you. Walked home still wanting to. But couldn’t. Just sulked from Haight toward Potrero. On a call with a friend, I told her: you leave in the morning for a country at war and all she asked was: when will I start chasing the taxi? I’m a coward, but admit it, smiling, looking back. Cities reflect in the other’s by tomorrow. Everything I loved about yours leaves with you. This nameless grid—all gloss, no cellulite; texture; warmth or pragmatism. But I had to. Cross. Mission. I had to. Cross. Mission. I had to.
