Paulelmo's Blog

Image result for photos of mexican beggars

Call me Pablo, por favor,
Because I’ve been to a southern land
searching for a language and a
résumé entry, only to return
a brand new man
who walks more slowly,
stresses less, and comprehends
what it means to be a Socialist.

I could’t understand the Socialist thought
knowing only these United States,
where most folks have
the things they need:
enough food to eat and a place to stay.
We might not think we do;
but we’re thinking wrong;
I’ve seen some of those that don’t
Our little is a lot to them;
to disagree is fault.

 

I have met the children,
in spite of situation laughing,
selling a trinket for next to nothing
to help scrape together
a meager, evening meal.
Pesos, they call for,
with the haughty Capitalist of their number
calling for a dollar
in the shadow of a cathedral of grandeur,
an oppressor’s ticket into heaven.

I have had to turn my down the brim of my cap,
not against the sun,
but to keep private the tears.
I have seen the beggars, many blind
from too much Mescal consumed to escape,
or to little care from this
supposed Democratic state.
I have seen the upturned cowboy hat in which
what is about two cents
makes a difference.
I have seen what a measly piece of paper,
the dollar which buys eight cigarettes; or
a Mountain Dew; or
a half gallon of gas,
means to schoolgirls selling flowers,
who just love to tell you their names;
where they go to school;
and what they like to study,
if you only bother to ask.
Their feet giddily scamper across
the square.  The flowers are tossed aside.
Dinner is paid for.
I don’t need
twenty-four cigarettes that badly.
My wine isn’t interrupted; it is enhanced.

I could have all the pesos
in Oaxaca, and when I passed out the last,
I’d be looking for more,
so if you see me on the street,
call me Pablo, por favor.

***

I wrote this shortly after I studied in Mexico the first time. That was in 2000. There’s so much bad here that it’s hard to say which is the worst aspect of it; if I had to guess, I’d say it’s the conceit. Thank God we learn from living. Forgive the young fool I once was.

5 Replies to “The Wine Enhanced–a poem”

    1. My okder son wrestled duals—two teams, head to head—he lost his match, but his team won. My younger son was 5-1; he finished third out of 14 and got his first trophy ever. He is six, and he weights 48 lbs (21.8 kg). My older son is ten and weighs 104 lbs (47.3 kg). Thanks for asking.

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