East Georgia Street, 200 Block
Street where young, upright, English-speaking hipsters
carrying paper coffee cups stride
by old, bent-backed, Cantonese-speaking seniors
carrying plastic grocery bags, shuffling
by construction crews who pound the ground.
The grandmothers haggle loud
enough that I can hear them through walls
(they sound like they’re arguing
but they’ll tell you they’re just talking).
I buy red twine, dou miu, batteries, a macchiato
then ride home on the retro bike my aunt gave me
with a whole fish dangling
from my handlebars.