Seattle Sunshine

by Renwick Berchild

Rail Punk tells me
Jimi Hendrix killed Kurt Cobain.

Ballard is a gentrified oasis,
where Shiba Inus relax in coffee houses
dining vegan and gluten-free.

I saw a BMW rolling down Aurora Avenue
while a man pushing his life in a grocery cart
crossed the street. I had a thought
but lost it, as the traffic light turned red
and I realized I’d missed my chance.

A couple told me they traveled 5,000 miles
to see the wildflowers on Mount Rainier.

“Does it rain here often?” a Pakistani man asks me.
“I’ve lived here for two years and have seen nothing but rain.”

Rail Punk tells me
the system is fucking fucked.
Amazon reassures me they’re doing us a solid.
Facebook instructs me to ignore the ocean of fire.

A woman’s been walking around and around
and around Green Lake like water
desperately trying to go down the drain.

Everybody’s favorite season is Fall.
Some of us change our minds.

Rail Punk tells me,
“See ya on the other side, babe.”

Rail Punk says to me,
“See ya in another life, babe.”

Rail Punk asks me,
“You got a name, babe? Babe?”

2 Comments to “Seattle Sunshine”

  1. Not a good poem for Washington State tourism

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