“Being in San Francisco during trump era”

Fog-wrapped hills embrace the dawn’s first light,  
Crimson bridge rising through the morning gray,  
Cable cars climb, bell-rung and shining bright,  
City by the bay unchanged—come what may.

Murals bloom down Mission’s storied veins,  
Hands up in protest; hope is painted bold,  
In midnight cafés, a chorus refrains—  
Justice, equality, a future retold.

In the Castro rainbow banners still fly,  
Undimmed by tempests from a distant throne,  
Marches wind beneath the stern Pacific sky—  
Each step a heartbeat, each cry a stone.

Golden Gate Park—drummers, poets, soft green,  
Dreamers recite manifestos to trees,  
While software wizards in SOMA convene,  
Chasing a freedom that flickers, then flees.

Some days, anger hums heavy in the air,  
Yet laughter, stubborn, grows between the cracks.  
San Francisco stands—a city aware,  
Unbowed, heart open, meeting each setback

With murals, music, banners, marching feet;  
Bracing for storms, but still—never defeat.

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