I just submitted this to our current Poet Laureate for the Poem of Place....

Most poems are about emotion
This one is of place
The neighborhood that surrounds us
The vistas that we face

Our oak is dropping acorns
Like missiles on the deck
The squirrels are scurrying after them
Our backyard's a wreck

With drought our plants are drier
The grass looks just like straw
The pomegranate leaves are umber
The fig tree's, not at all

There's a gentle murmur of Ralston traffic
As background on our street
The smell of apples ripening
The footsteps of my feet

My dog halts at storm drains
Hesitation always there
Is it the metal grid that bothers her
Or a hint of raccoon in the air?

We climb up Monte Cresta
And then descend Monserat
Along our route trudge children
With backpacks big and fat

Some days we startle Does with wet noses
Staring through the mist
Their fawns quiet and still beside them
You get the gist

This place means "beautiful mountain"
And I'd say its name is apt
'Cause as we walk its hills
With beauty we are wrapped

Poem composed by Jeannine Gerkman 9/20/2014