Poetry

Muir Woods National Monument

by

Mike Estabrook

250 feet up
the massive crown
of one of the oldest redwoods
in the park bristling proudly
in the midday sun.

Up on the Hillside Trail
barely visible among the gangly saplings
and shrubs stands a buck, antlers agape,
completely unflapped
by us trekking noisily along below.

The trail is so steep in spots
that one misstep and you’d
go crashing down
into the stream far below.

Stretching up from alongside the trail
the famous 225-foot-tall “walk-through” tree
crashed to the ground
back in December 1971,
the forest growing in filling in
the shadowless space all around.

But for me the most awesome aspect
of this ethereal experience
is simply walking along behind my wife,
following along in her precious wake
mesmerized as always
by the motion of her movements
moving with perfect perfection
especially accentuated today
by the mystical majesty of these ancient woods
improved by the mere pristine presence
of the most beautiful woman ever
to grace its trails.

Pythons

by

Mike Estabrook

Busy day of San Francisco sightseeing:
riding the Muni Metro N-Train,
transferring to the F-Line Streetcar,
walking up Broadway to Columbus
and into the famous City Lights Bookstore
(I actually met Lawrence Ferlinghetti
when I was here 14 years ago,
he signed a couple of his books for me),
then across the street
to the Beat Museum (closed, damn).

Then we continued climbing the steep hills
rising like pythons up to Mason Street
to the Cable Car Museum:
amazing watching these huge
whirring spinning wheels still powering
ancient cable cars like they did 130 years ago.
Outside, one of the cable cars
becomes stuck at the corner
so we climb on, pay our $5,
sit down as it gets push-started
and we ride the fattened coils
of the giant undulating python hills
back down to the bottom
where we enjoy a lovely lunch
at the Boudin Cafe (as I waited for
my pain pills to kick in)
then took the N-Train back to Dave’s.

“I need to lie down,” she said,
her eyelids heavy as hens.
When I went in later to check on her
she was sprawled out languidly
across the bed on her tummy,
one leg bent at the knee,
one arm stretched out above her head
like she’s picking apples off a tree.

The long, strong, soft, pure landscape
of her lush body lying content
as a python sleeping in the sun,
is the most beautiful, fascinating, enticing thing
I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

I Should Have Never Let Her Go

by

Mike Estabrook

“Sorry you came all the way over here,
but I can’t see you today,” she takes a deep breath.
“I have a date with another guy.” She shrugs,
looks at me defiantly.

So, like the yellow-bellied cowardly jackal that I am,
I tuck my tail down between my legs
and leave her dorm, her campus, her town.

I actually (can’t believe it today)
allowed her, my girlfriend of 2 years
go off to spend the day
with this creep, when instead
I should have balled my fists,
stood my ground, exclaimed,
“No you’re not. You’re my girl,
you’re not going off with any other guy,
unless of course you no longer want to be my girl.”

Yes, that is what I should have done.
There is a time for civility and gentility
and a time to ball your fists
and stand up for yourself and what’s yours
and for what’s right too.