Algunos saludos, cálidos
or if I’m wearing
chanclas, miradas
de desdén
I know many
by sight, every day
more by name.
Rafa, Marian, Lina,
Paco, el hombre de
la tiendecita, or su hija también
Esta mañana, as
I walked past the
peña, I heard
a voice like a spring fiddle,
“¡Buenos días Rafa!
¡Buenos días Luis!
¡Buenos días Lola y Luz!”
and on and on
It was a young neighbor with a playful morning song.
And on the other sidewalk
of the cobblestone street
leaning on a 1960s bar, built into a 1760s wall
a woman smoked and said
hi to me, and a man sat
in an aluminum chair
at an aluminum table and beckoned
Marco over, to pet his head.
“Tiene la misma cara que
mi gata,” he said, risueño.
By Madeleine Brink