So suddenly
The maracas shake loose
The burdens this corner has shouldered
For so many years
Eyes that seldom meet
That hurry past
So lost in our own private problems
Now stop and look
Together
At los músicos
Quiénes son estos hombres
Sharing such a precious gift
For free?
A white tourist dances
With a brown skinned day laborer
She sets down her Banana Republic bag
And nobody steals it
The Mexican Evangelisto
Who day after day
Preaches damnation here through a bullhorn
Is out-shouted by the trumpet
Mas bailarinos
Get infected with the beat
Junkies, gang bangers
Old and young
All colors
Muchas idiomas
¿Y cuáles son esas
Sonrisas!
La música
A soothing salve
Reminding us
That magic really does exist
It just hides sometimes
Like a bud
Before it blooms
Like the sunlight
Before it burns
Through the fog.
Las Abuelas
Las abuelas are like árboles
Pushing up through concrete
And yet they hold the ground beneath us
In place
Giving shade from the summer heat
Or shelter from
Cabrónes
And baby mama drama
The abuela's house
May be simple
But in the evening
Food is cooking
And the cable and rent
Are paid for.
