June-gloom socking in the coast, but
     on the street, a profusion
of Jacaranda blossoms surrounds
     parked cars with bright
lavender halos. I’m out early driving
     up Mission, in the right
turn-lane for State Street, listening to
     Billie Holliday on the FM
with “God Bless the Child,” wondering
     again about the unequal
luck in the world?  It’s still too cold
     for blackbirds to be
out scrounging around the trash bins, but
     on the bus bench in front
of the 7-11, there’s the usual drunk
     on duty behind his sunglasses,
almost stylish in black shirt and jeans,
     arms stretched side to side
along the top of the bench as he leans
     back, and cranes his head
skyward, straight up, into the fog.