Gringo : Poems


Small Restaurant on 4th beyond Niños

A certain image from the street
strikes combined ideas into light

flash reflection windshields echo sun
into windows @ Bibi's fuente de sodas.

These flowers bleed your ink.

Something beyond borders of paper, a
grace of spoon lifted lip to not
acquire full meaning until that
caldo soup gets sipped, tasted,
savored & digested.

Old song conforms this light of day;
my verse is the reason I eat here.

Beams stab through windows, dancing
over floor, counter, tables, stove, Max
and cooks in reverse order from creation :

enlightenment. Tastes good.
Everything else is barren paper.

No bad poetry can erase it, no
purple prose bury it, no Revolución
Avenue tourist hucksters obscure

its truth

you must look to
see & taste to enjoy .





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Copyright 2001 Daniel Charles Thomas; email = thomas@masinternet.zzn.com