Stanyan Street - Rod McKuen

You lie bent up in embryo sleep

Below the painting of the blue fisherman

Without a pillow

The checkered cover kicked and tangled on the

Floor

The old house creaking now

A car going by

The wind

A fire engine up the hill

I’ve disentangled myself from you

Moved silently

Groping in the dark for cigarettes

And now three cigarettes later

Still elated

Still afraid

I sit across the room watching you —

The light from the street lamp coming through the

Shutters

Hysterical patterns flash on the wall sometimes

When a car goes by

Otherwise there is no change

Not in the way you lie curled up

Not in the sounds that never come from you

Not in the discontent I feel

You’ve filled completely

This first November day

With Sausalito and sign language

Canoe and coffee

Ice cream and your wide eyes

And now unable to sleep

Because the day is finally going home

Because your sleep has locked me out

I watch you and wonder at you

I know your face by touch when it’s dark

I know the profile of your sleeping face

The sound of you sleeping

Sometimes I think you were all sound

Kicking free of covers

And adjusting shutters

Moving about in the bathroom

Taking twenty minutes of our precious time

I know the hills

And gullys of your body

The curves

The turns

I have total recall of you

And Stanyan Street

Because I know it will be important later

It’s quiet now

Only the clock

Moving toward rejection tomorrow

Breaks the stillness

There are golden apples to be picked

And green hills to climb

And meadows to run when you’re young

There are roaring rivers to be crossed

And bridges to build

And wild oats to sow as you grow

But later on the other side of time

The apples no longer taste sweet

Bridges fall down

Meadows turn brown

As life falls apart

In a little room on Stanyan Street