This poem is dedicated to two yearly events that happen in San Francisco. Dore Alley occurs the last Sunday of July and Folsom Street is the last Sunday of September.
24 June 2010
Walking down the street I ogle and stare
At Dore Alley and Folsom Street Fair.
The men are more than just pretty faces,
They have muscles and bulges in the right places.
Any one of them can sign up on my dance card
Just looking at them makes me drool and get hard.
Their looks and bodies are hard to hide
Especially when they’re naked outside.
The entry signs say no fucking or nudity
But those in the know don’t put up with such prudity.
As San Francisco’s finest reposed
I’ve strolled by with my privates exposed.
Regardless of the weather
Most of the crowd wears leather.
There are people of both sexes and all sizes
And a few come with odd surprises.
I get my favorite wish there
To walk around in fetish gear.
When the sky’s unclouded
The street becomes crowded.
You never know who you’ll meet,
And you might have sex in the street.
Folsom & Dore are a mix of fantasy and real
Mostly you just look, but sometimes you feel.
There’s drooling by the hour
With no hope of a cold shower.
Later when the fog rolls in,
It’s the rigamarole’s end.
Outside the temperature drops
But indoors the party never stops.
The memories are all so good
I’ll be back next time in all likelihood.
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