noise

Alamo Square Park: Thin spray of sound from cars passing north and south on Scott Street. Whipping blades of a helicopter beating the sky into soft peaks that break and run. A white truck with a snub nose backing up. Higher helicopter, another one, rides its droning up down: fish on a hook. I can’t hear the bicyclist riding north, but I can see the fat triangle tread on the tires. Sound of wind clapping over my ears. Dead grass rubbing together, crushed when I move my foot. Blue car, grey car, penny-colored car come by. Car starting at the top of the street. Bubble of voices. High kid’s voice–little girl with black hair clinging to dad’s chest, looking back over his shoulder. Car bumping over something in the road. I feel how heavy the wind is when it changes direction and pushes from the south for a moment, instead of from the west. Doorsopening sounds of tree branches dipping in the wind, creaking. Construction at the corner of Hayes and Scott. Someone pulling bumping a plastic trash can on wheels up the concrete steps to his apartment, one hand behind his body gripping the handle, and one hand on the railing. Warm plastic and cold metal. The approaching layer of bus noises: brakes are a key turning: the open scream locks into silence. Red-haired guy walking on the sidewalk down the hill from me. Sound of ball bouncing off the apartment buildings around him pulls the ball to his hand from the ground. The paper I’m writing on licks up when the wind blows. I hold it down with spread fingers. There’s a truck idling at the corner of Hayes and Scott, turning a cud of noise over and over in its geared stomachs.

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