Calling in from CalTrain

Boring-ass boss     --well, boss's boss's--
he does go on,     and that accent. Ugh!
Set on the seat     beside me, my phone's
on speaker but muted.     I'd love to mime
"blah blah blah",     flapping duck-bill fingers
to anyone, but this car's empty--     bad A/C.
It's for the best,     nobody to bug.
I'll sweat--and escape     to the realm of Hyrule.
Nintendo     take me away!

Pedro Point--Pacifica Summer

No Farallons today, in fog
you go up, pine to disappearing pine
(scraggly, and mossy more than needled)
'til at last the trail levels out, and
surely this is it: The End of the World,
a knife-ridge path to a little peak
mist-blown and mystery-beconing;
so try that narrow teetery track--
But it's not the last, there's another and another,
out over the invisible ocean
(just a jade sliver of waves, way way down).

Biking to Cañada

Grim was the grade, but The Grove's up there
with promise of pastry and coffee.
And fool's defiance was fairly repaid--
of inclement sky, no showers but clouds
ridge-creeping from the coastside (a soggy
day no doubt in Pescadero)
heavy-laden and drippy-leaking...
But Iris spread her arc: the full spectrum
of visible light, red to violet,
crowning the hilltop community college.