You say it with your face
worn as uneven sidewalk
staring out from behind the signs
held up like shields from exhaust, 
the damp wind upside rough cheeks
chilled as the cold exposes you
and the people trying to live,
swept off by the law
from the torn streets
of this magnificent city
like broken panes of glass
every shard reflects us
and cuts through false promises
the money spent on everything else
the affordable housing famine
the shortage of brown bag sandwiches
the blanket deficit, random seizures 
of shopping cart luggage, flattened
cardboard boxes vacated daily
becoming mounds under plastic nights
in camps passed by—then swept away 
eyesores in the dulled eyes 
of a government that won’t 
look long enough to cry,
refusing to see a damned thing 
damned by this magnificent, 
classy city disguised as renewal.
You say it with your face
because you know those in control 
are not listening—the concept of despair 
distant, familiar, ignored
will numb the heart.
You say it with your bare face
because the powers that be
lose consciousness
when the mask of privilege 
falls on eyes afraid to recognize
the obvious. You say it with your life
because you live here in it. 


San Francisco
for Newsom & City Hall
during The Sweep