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.
