On Time

In downtown San Francisco
just before the Giants game,
outside Wells Fargo's steelglass face --
no gargoyle nose, no cheeks to pinch,
to grab, to mangle --
the stagecoach rode up, puffing dust,
jiggling cinches,

horses sweating, foaming, strong;
mud-clumped leather smelling new;
KANSAS CITY gleaming through the dust; 
driver feigning calm; you saw
his arms and neck and knew 
he knew the story.  Eyes working more --

so much more to caution of.
Shotgun rider squinting, shotgun
like a cross, the way he held it.

Rode up to the steelglass face,
not much familiar but the name.

"Whoa team --"

Manager came out, all Gucci'd up
(his levis at the cleaners), almost
saw, understood: "What the
took you guys so long?"

A. Y. Tanaka