Bukowski Died Here, Too

It’s a city of sharp contrasts:

the hill, where the better-off live,

blocks the ocean breeze from

the less-off people at the base.

The set up invalidates real estate

beliefs about oceanfront property.

Here, the closer you get to the water

on the port side, the lower the value,

but the closer you get to the port,

the closer to literal wealth.

And scattered through it all

are the turf battles to claim this place

as one thing or another punctuated

by run-ins with the recovered,

recovering,

needing-cover shelterless

who scream for help in everything but words

or just scream because of all the words.

And that contrast is stamped on the DNA

of anybody who stays, from the union-strong

workers with little education making six-figures

and voting for anti-union conservatives,

to the teacher who spreads education

knowing half this place will never care

and that other half, though, that other half

will learn to see the splendor

in the conflicts that mean nothing

compared to the next

paycheck and breath.