Morning Otomíe man
perusing plaza garbage cans,
caressing away dirt from trinkets,
bagging every find with a smile.

Hot, late, afternoon:
A four-year-old indigenous boy runs to me from mother’s trinket stand with two items: “¡Ándele! Llévese este por 15 pesos, o este por solo 10”.

The night time poor
Setting up their sleeping rows
Under beautifully arcaded sidewalks
as busy fun-seeking young and old
pass by the foot of their bedding.

All belying fantasies
rooted in idealized ambiances
stemming from sidewalk art, music, and laughter.

Well-to-do folk
fleeing to ritzier places
as deeper darkness falls.

I, too, flag a taxi to go dine by a lake in an exclusive neighborhood.

Intricately tiled
long curvy entrance.
Small ceramic pieces
mimicking snake skin
adorns the ego’s step.

Fourier reveals
a lively rattlesnake
attempting to find an escape
from its 40-gallon aquarium.
Wanting to escape its confinement
of expensive perfumes,
snake skin high heeled shoes,
silky and shiny dresses,
beautifully manicured tapping finger nails,
and the aura of disdain.
It desires to hide in the depths of Mother Earth,
but finds only glass
and mockery.

I order the “Filete De Salmón y Espárragos” and enjoy my order.
Upon my return at 2:30 AM, I find my Boutique-Hotel doors locked.
Across the narrow cobblestone road I see the rows of arches, and rows of blankets with people sleeping, trying to sleep, at my incessant, futile, knocking.
I eyeball an empty spot among them, and immediately wave down a taxi to find another hotel for this night out at the Ritz.

©Paul Aponte, June 20th, 2016

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