Lessons on Observation
I wonder where the wandering vehicles go
And from whence they came
To pass urgently down my street
The stump of the old umbrella tree
Grows damp and destroyed
But from it grows
Green ferns that wave
Brightly against the somber
Grey
Of the sky and the lake
The hawk glides on the
Cold wind and passes against the
Clouds blowing east towards nowhere
The small white ibis glides parallel to
The house across the way
The cold makes me shiver
The sound of cars and birds and children
Blows pass me as the dead brown
Leaves tremble upon the branch above me
My cigarette tastes bland and uninviting
I think I will write poetry
Brew some tea and smoke a joint
The sun
In vain
Tries desperately to break through
The sea of clouds like the bones
Beneath a deprived child’s skin
For a moment the sun shines brilliant upon the lake
And dabbles it with jewels and
Brightens the grass
The neighbor whistles at the dogs
Now the sun has just shone bright upon my head
Everything’s obscenely serene
And I hear the old Cuban jazz emanating
From the house behind me
I notice the rust stains on the fence
And the solitary rotten block of Styrofoam
That brings to light
A fond memory
Where are the cars going?
Where are the cars going?
Where are the cars going?
Where are the cars going?
-Paola C. Tavarez