believe it

his hair shaggy
smiles at the headline of
fridays chronicle
holding facing

hat, nikes, longcoat
black frames
round and thick crystal

she says
im sorry for
beating you when
we were kids

i have got a lot of
gray in my hair

butterfly
lips slope nose

parallel

this line
the line of his lashes

he answers the mobile, i kicked
that white bitch
fucking white
bitch

and they share
hard round candy
she is in culinary
attire, black young woman
“baby”
threatens to throw
candy in white
bitches hair the
49 is crowded

his hair gray pulled
back with murrays
glances at me
my pen this
paper is bright salmon

and he is like me
feet propel us
from mission to
tender loin

these words i align while i walk the streets of san francisco, noting moments of observations