STRANGERS

By JO ALLYN

I walk alone the San Francisco streets; The fog-muffled, rain-wet thoroughfares And know my own peculiar pleasure.

There is beauty in bracing the opposite-rushing crowd,

Adventure is the not-knowing and in Looking upon narrow unfamiliar streets, Passing unknown dimly perceived doors Leading to adventures unsavored.

No one knows when I pass their world

For I am outside, unseen, anonymous

As a ghost under the mist-rimmed lights.

I see the women beckoning beside the open doors And I see the stranger who answers,

I pass the golden-skinned women

Who slide on slippered feet

And the bright-eyed brown men

Who walk in pride as in their own land.

I see the handsome boys who walk

Hand linked to hand and

I see the girls with blank eyes Who walk unseeing in the night.

I hear the bella that ring, but Ring not for me; I see the stranger And the lost who look but see me not,

For I am stranger yet than all of these.

་

黑

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