On the Castro

On the edge of the old CastroThe Male chases the FemaleThe girl is more intent on kissing and cuddlingThe boy mostly on mounting

The crumbling cliff of rock behind her means he cantOr she wontThe game of chess is played with rumps sticking over the edgeBodies at angles

Eventually under the midday sun(Angling under my shirt and through my hat)He rises on her supine form, her wings part trembling.Like a cock crowing noiselessly he flutters his wings for a second or two

And then he bursts from the Castro Wings at 45 degrees, barreling down the alley, Over the rooftops and backBeside her, they parallel, she preening, he stunned in ecstacy