Coming back from Mexico.







Coming Home From Mexico

I take a bus from O'hare
Where a fight has erupted

And the driver pleads for understanding
Then everything goes asleep
Without tranquility

Walk through the capital city
Past midnight. Not a soul
Playing the guitarron
I find my car
Where I once lived

The morning after, the kitchen
Without cracked tiles, or coffee
Laying down in the street,
The sunflowers are too heavy
To stand

Everything is sterilized at the Coop
I pour coffee from a carafe with immaculate stickers
While twins in red polka dot dresses
Cover their mouths at the produce

Outside, under green striped umbrellas
Everyone pristine, worked-out
And we are all looking up

As the homeless woman
In the parking lot
Asks for alms
While dragging her leg,
Black as barro negro