City by the Water

With so many languages spoken that you might mistake it for Ellis Island

Or Angel Island

Or the international terminal at SFO

A place where they traded sideshows on 16th for pricy cafes

Where the organs were removed but a facsimile remains 

Where immigration crackdowns deport the owners and workers of our favorite restaurants

Where labor can't organize because of trade secrets and intellectual property and most critically, profits

But growing up, this was the only place to be;

Some angles are still special even with the landscape shifting

Misty mornings and pastel buildings, bold blue, pink, teal, and taupe

The 70mm movie shots that appear when you least expect it

The Roxie is still playing some real shit

They’re still playing soccer on most of the basketball courts in the Mission

I’m still wondering how the bread is so damn good

The bones of this place remain but the flesh has been leaving the body

A city stew starving of the flavors that once made each spoonful of cioppino so satisfying

Where the wealthiest pieces of shit walk past the shit on cold concrete sidewalks in disgust of this place

Ironically sponging up the resources while starving those around them

We know that their wealth comes from our people

We know that cumin, coriander, cloves, bay leafs, and cilantro comes from our people

We know that no one amasses that much without a broken conscience or a broken system

We know that, no, billionaires shouldn't exist, and yet we sit in shadows cast by their walls

The community scatters like the heater's on while the door is open

While some warmth remains, we’re not capturing what’s lost