I wanted ten minutes of sun
(You read poetry, you will write poetry)
and just then clouds swooped in
but not really.
I saw the city from a new angle.
I don’t go that way.
You don’t want to go that way.
highway angle over Zeitgeist
nicer in the sun
downhill angle on the gas station
that looks like a mob hangout
like a gang-ridden hideout from Breaking Bad
I wanted ten minutes in the sun
Perfect words came
and went
when the clouds came.
You read poetry and you
will write poetry.
I had the words when the clouds
swung in
and I thought
“Let them go.
They’ll come back.”
I thought about Castro Yoga Tree
I don’t go any more.
I felt guilty
to have paradise within steps
of my flats.
I saw the pregnant lady twice.
I don’t know what gentrification is.
Is it a pregnant girl in a punk t-shirt?
The first time, she said of her paper cup,
“This coffee is pretty good,”
and it better be, it cost six dollars.
I should write this down.
I even brought a notebook,
but there’s nowhere to stop,
not so much as a ledge.
That’s why I don’t go this way.
You don’t want to go this way.
You’ll see the pregnant girl in the
punk rock shirt again and pass
a ruined garage painted pristine
graffiti red mural canvas lovely
instagram crumbling background.
I don’t write it down and
I worry I will lose it and
the voice of my yoga teacher
soothes me, “It’ll come back.”
She always says.
Let the thoughts go. I promise,
they come back.
I wanted ten minutes of sun on my skin,
And just then, of course, the clouds came in.
