As you leave south’s cramped land
with concrete buildings, traffic
jams of Hondas, Toyotas, Fords, and
mainlanders stand on the wet sand,
Ewa beach cries out to you, locals—
Hawaiian, Pilipino, Japanese,
Chinese and Samoan, too, are found
in little pockets, pop-up towns. Roost
in millennial times, no running water,
no electricity, these citizens do without
in the island’s harsh economy, try to feed
a keiki on sawdust, see what it reaps.
These faces, young and old, collapse
into folds of disparity, tarp flaps
slapping the view. That’s Aloha.