THE BODEGA

Rosa shoved another box of Bud Light
Onto the bottom shelf and slid the door shut.
Yet another crease dug into her crinkled browned forehead
As The Kid hopped into her bodega,
Dark eyes shining and rolling like glass marbles.
Rosa hoped he would leave fast without a mess, but
Maria smiled at him and ruffled his bouncy black hair;
Maria knew everyone.
Of course he only came for water balloons
To hurl like grenades at his friends in the park,
But now he saw Maria, popping her gum and
Rattling change in her long, manicured fingers.
Rosa shook her old head slowly and clicked her tongue,
Hobbling to the storeroom behind the counter.

SHOPPING

the man at the counter
asked if i needed help
as i fingered my way through
the store. i told him
no, i was just looking at
everything struggling for a spot
in my eyes.

then i wondered
if it was better
to be blind.

SELECTIVE PRESSURES

(for those who have been faced with obstacles
and evolved.)

the magician’s cloth
slithers through the
ring, and only the torn
threads are left behind, frazzled
mangled victims.

my speckled skin is
tough from brushing by metal
zippers on the subway train, and
every tourist is left
rubbed red and raw.

they will never come
to the city
again.

NOSTALGIA

after you tumble
down the ramp and
herd your luggage to the nearest
exit, you will look for me
where i always am, but
i will be where
i always was, throwing chunks
of cement into the
river.