Tuesday Morning
Don’t flush the toilet paper
rest a moment in the church
where the day’s din disappears
the shower’s a medium drip
watermelon, mangoes, papayas
under bright umbrellas
sidewalks like sea waves
from temblors and
nothing in the coffers for repairs
the blind accordionist
plays Oaxaca’s greatest hits
rebar on rooftops salutes the skies
(unfinished buildings aren’t taxed and
we live in the subjunctive tense)
furrowed faces of dark-skinned indigenous
the sierras blue on blue
a watercolor surround
you can almost touch
no driving lessons, more drivers
thank God for the two walk lights
riots of bougainvillea, jacaranda, marigolds
soft green cantara stones
hungry streetwise strays
strike up the band
Zandunga in the Zocalo
sit, listen
City Birds
At dawn the songbirds broadcast:
Perched in the jacaranda’s lovely lavender blossoms
they are calling for love and will not take no.
Later, a radio broadcast on evolution:
To find the one that matters,
to compete with the city’s clash, clap, clatter,
the warblers now sing at higher pitch
above the roar of prehistoric buses,
the shouts of “Agua!” “Arrugahhh, Gas de Oaxaca!”
the pop! boom! pop! of rocket blasts
that muffle this day’s sadness —
Listen —
Listen —
there is a love song.
Oaxaca Women
On the bus they notice
I’m not one of them
I’m in navy
Nordstrom pants,
brown linen jacket,
blue gym bag slung
across a medium frame,
swim snorkle poking out of its zipper,
toe nails red-oragne in gold sandals,
hair ashy-white and askew,
no makeup on light skin
tarnished by time and sun
they’re in petite
straight cotton skirts,
button-down blouses,
brown loafer shoes,
muscled arms under study handles
on market bags in green, red, blue plastic,
jet black hair cinched
by barrettes,
smooth skin,
shades of brown.
We exchange glances
nothing more.
Transitions and Transformations 