Afternoon gray off the Golden Gate Bridge
Clears away now to a lingering blue
With expansive day soaked in bright sunlight;
Tourists ride through wealthy Marin County
As their guide recounts his own narrative
Of the way things used to be in the great
Long-distant past of San Francisco, gone -
"Everything was safe and clean in those days,
Children could walk the streets alone at night, "
He sighs, driving the big bus uphill
To a park submerged in Redwood shadow.
In his eyes the look of certainty,
What really chills is his lack of doubt,
Righteousness stalking in pricks of gray
And that smile! So unforgiving,
Distant until he knocks on your door
In a nightmare moment before dawn;
The Protector who would ride his horse
If he had a horse, but he does not,
For he is no Cromwell, after all,
Yet he is pretty darned close, I think -
A twenty-first century crusader,
Propelled by Faith to impose his will,
And firmly convinced that he is right.