Passport And Pen In Pocket Poem by Susan Lacovara

He was happy in Sausalito
Till Paris looked prettied
In the Spring

The quaint cafes
Cluttered with faces of strangers
He imaged he could love

The night lights
Though decorating his thoughts
Illuminated his sorrows as well

Maybe San Francisco would be kinder
The smell of fish and fantasy
To give his heart new harbor

From the hilly streets
He scooped a cat
To stroke, when all his barricades burst

When the trolley car of hope derailed
He headed East to heal in New England
And found the snow fell like tears

What better than to tan again
The South of France and her display
Of perfect bodies on the beach

But comes the breach of loneliness
Passport and pen in pocket
And love poems left to write