“san francisco in september”

muhammad ali never fought any fights in san francisco
and neither did cassius clay-
a girl i met a few times
saw a knife-fight in the mission district
but that’s as close to violence
as i got
here today-

i saw pigeons vie for half a pizza crust
sitting on the north beach
and i watched a ship come in
and i thought about a hundred years ago
when it might have carried jack london-

is this the same san francisco
jack london saw
after months at sea
before he made his
way back to oakland where
he would write it all down?

the pigeons are the same, probably
and they probably fought over
bread crusts just as savagely
and cassius clay
hadn’t even been born,
let alone changed his name
in defiance of expectations-

san francisco has met my expectations
but i changed my name with the lesson learned
and i knew before i came here
that if i made it to san francisco in september
i wouldn’t want to see you when i returned-
that any love letters i sent your way after that
would be written by a fictional me
to an image of you
that bore no resemblance to reality-
our conclusion as final
as the suicide at the end of martin eden
and the names involved
would have to be changed
as in london’s novel-

on the beach-
on the north end-
where the fog rolls over the hills
and you can see alcatraz in the distance-
they used to hold boxing matches off the pier
and men returned from sea
would square off as prizefighters
and their shipmates would gamble
their wages on the outcome-

i tried to picture
clay fighting listen-
or ali fighting frazier-

i tried to picture
clay fighting ali
the way i was battling myself
over how easy it was
to let you go-

but there’s not much violence in
san francisco today-
and london will have to look elsewhere
for his great white hope-
and so will i-