I’m in the Mission
birds fly in formation over head
ass sits in concrete seat
wet with old gum stains and
pee sterile with sidewalk bleach that can’t
possibly keep up with the humanity at its feet
Mother bee carries baby boy toward electric bus that
no one pays for
Do 2 dollar tacos still exist?
Has heaven’s savior in disguise
reached the edges of 30th?
Death to 300 dollar-a-month movement studios and
restaurants that serve greens in bowls with
beans and “good intentions” that
no one can afford unless you gloat progress ideologies
that take form in digital revolutions like
data centers with record breaking emissions
We’re too smart for our own good
I took the Waymo home two nights in a row
you hypocrite
talk shit on AI and then talk about how fun it would be
to get drunk on whiskey in the backseat
Driver! Take me to the Coit Tower!
I’m drowning my sorrows in comedy and McAllan
refuse to check bank account to avoid the
mental challenge of facing myself
Bus arrives to pick up baby and mother bee
they’re off to other parts of the city with
different metamorphoses of the same problems
too much tech
too little humanity
even the kind that stains my ass with spittle and
sterile piss
you almost missed the chance to get your
San Francisco-style immune boost
Have you ever stumbled in the open night
looking for half smoked cigarettes to
quell the respite of ever-nearing sobriety?
To feel something for one last ‘fuck me tomorrow’
wheeze from the chest?
Or maybe a 3am ‘I’ve certainly given myself a disease’
calls best friend in Portland who’s trying to be a doctor and laments
‘I think my heart hath finally stopped beating!’
I must learn to draw boundaries
but ask me tomorrow three Underbergs deep and
I’ll say something different
I’m in the Mission
birds fly in formation over head
mother baby and parent son
get each other on the bus
we’re in this together, I tell myself
clutching onto things as the bus propels us
into the future by way of hills in the Castro between
Church and Haight
our fate tells us we’ll always have strong calves and
bad livers
skin thicker than it once was when
Pacific Northwest wetness and white skin
enabled the dreary comfortability
And birds fly in similar formations here as
they did there
but I am different