Bob Dylan on a CD preceded me
into the Caldecott Tunnel.
On the other side a gray day
was raining down with apprehension.
A silver lining of blue fell on San Francisco,
one block south of Market where cost-plus contracts
no long commanded any center of attention
or even notable employment.
Every memo, every note, every
employee evaluation we ever wrote,
now floats shredded and decaying in some
Central Valley landfill off to the east.
A CEO’s son holds the lease
on one floor only of his father’s
or grandfather's former dreams.
44 years ago this road was mine,
a student in another time and place.
A generation before that, this road didn’t even exist,
but the roadsigns through Lafayette couldn’t be missed:
Oakland/San Francisco: Somewhere off to the west.
©Peter Bray, 3/3/10 All rights reserved
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