The Long Beach block party

Far from vaulted ceilings and matrimony
and white walls and white balloons
and untouchable society
exists a dry
hot heat

Take away the boring conversations about
privilege
or right or wrong

and go to the beach on a sunday
where the water is mixed with grime
from the ships parked off shore

Long Beach like an industrial monolith
colored green and red cargo
containers stacked high
like a cathedral
to the economy

in the distance a fake waterfall
covers op an oil rig

the smell of pot and cigarettes
the sound of hip hop
and Mexican music

of people having a good time

(ghetto ass beach) a kid says as i walk past

Black and brown, some white

and me

I can pass through this scene
relatively unnoticed though
that is the power of
being some sort of minority

though in reality im only tangibly welcome
but also
I realize that in some strange way I do belong here

And that no matter what I do,
I am just like those little chubby kids
wearing T-shirts in the water

The other day I ate with my fiance
amongst old people, Mexicans, black people
the same group I see at the beach

and the funny thing is
I remember being a little kid here
and not in a fancy building with beautiful people
or in dingy nighttime art venues
or healthy fancy, delicious home grown restaurants

I remember the smoking section at Spires
and my grandpa disappearing after we ate
and coming back smelling like cigarettes

or my uncles backyard parties
on 90 degree summer nights
that smelled like cheap beer

I remember running through a lawn sprinkler


 I may not be like them,
but I cant ignore that
I am less out of place there
than most places.