Burritt Street

Poem By William B. Deutscher

In San Francisco's financial district
Downtown, there is an alley, Burritt Street,
Jutting out where Bush Street roofs the Stockton
Tunnel, dark site of fictional deceit
As revealed by a small plaque on the wall,
Commemorating what never happened;
Sunlit daytime's familiar routine
All but obscures our cold blackness of night,
The nagging stain of treacherous murder.

Comments about Burritt Street

There is no comment submitted by members.

Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of DEUTSCHER


Summer's evening storm
Darkens my window
With the close pressure
Of humid air


Your lost metaphors
Try to knock
Down the walls

Not The Same

Now waiting expectantly for summer
To play in the ear as a tinkling tune
The fairground whirl of the once-empty lot
Dancing music for air-conditioned nights

Death Of A Coworker

"It's a damned shame that he died all alone, "
You say with ambivalent sympathy
At one point during the course of the day,
Now funereal with the death of a man

Down The Shore

Summer sun
And fairground turn,
Afternoon edge
On the cusp of a smile.

Domestic Disturbance

As the couple next door
Resume hostilities
Bits of their detritus
Float in the August night;