Swirl of black cape
east of downtown Oakland
at the edge of Chinatown
in the cool of spring
evening and I'm listening for music
and hearing none, marry into another
family of events, community college students
who hand out gift cards to a younger set
in a basement catacomb
where elementary school kids sit in a darkened room
with their foreheads sheltered by hair
as they study musical notation.
No hip-hop music
at a student center
that is bucketed for closure
with chairs prisoners of a yellow tape.
The next day it's
morning at the Farmer's Market,
red swiss chard, asparagus,
spotted purple orchids.