The sun slightly bleaches wood buildings
For California heat burns mild,
But the cheer it brings to folk of this street
Makes it worth the hills burning wild.
Dressed like an old man
At a bar of a dulcet past,
To find thoughts of silk shirts and drinks
That make expensive nights last.
I walked along the bay shore
Lined with tiny shops and eateries,
To look through cracks between buildings
And see riches of wealthy free.
Each shop and wood wall café
That lined the bulbous-rocked beach
Has little more than caviar and wine
For the affluent that saunter the streets.