TO THE RHYTHM OF THE 95122

TO THE RHYTHM OF THE 95122

By José Ariel Cuevas

I walk around aimlessly

on my day off,

in search of Jesus,

or pan dulce,

or something...

anything, really.

I get on the 22,

tap my Clipper Card,

with my soul shouting,

“drag me to the east side 

where every streetlight

strobes with life,

flashes with communion, 

with the intersection of Story and King

choked-up with cars coursing

through traffic 

like blood through veins.”

My soul yearns for the umbilical connection

with the streets that saw me grow,

that know my innermost thoughts,

and is the metronome that

sets the beat of my heart

to the rhythm of the 95122.

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