I live where all of the women are beautiful.
You’ve seen them walking easy on tiger’s backs
recycling and settling in to read something or other
about travel and philosophy.
The women here are beautiful
wearing those shorts that come up high with
legs left over from high school
sitting in cafes with 8 tables
talking on their phones to boyfriends
who haven’t left the studio in days
waiting for that inspiration to leak through the ceiling
expecting the latte to be half-caf
and soy and iced
but with froth.
I live where it rains in July
where the rent gets raised over night
hot rain falls and the cars swerve right
toward us until we screech and laugh
and get there soaked
and get home itchy and wet.
I live where I can’t help but be we,
and the women are always a separate entity
heads held high
shoes thin soled.
I live where gardens grow on every block
and are barely contained by metal fences,
I live where rain makes the women