When nine, a Sting Ray found me in Guaymas;
At sixty-two I'd go back to that bay - Perhaps to verify pain is no loss,
Or pass some other time that's on my way.
There'd be stone and workers - both I prefer.
Not to say, I don't love you where I am,
But "who" I am can't be found in either -
Nor in a rank described by some emblem.
What is left when hammer, chisel and stone
Stop singing ? Look around - a bunch of dust.
Remember how this started? I can moan,
Or use what I've learned, not waiting to rust.
Why Mexico? la mujer son bella,
Y la comida es muy sabrosa.
jts 020714
http://josephtstevens.blogspot.com
reprinted with permission - all rights reserved
∞
No comments:
Post a Comment