Author Information
Los Deportados
Folder:
Poems From the Road
Tijuana. Early evening avenue
Heading out to make the scene.
Walking the Calles thru Zona Norte
Took me to see the poor people
living in the cardboard city
In refrigerator boxes and plywood shacks.
2 little kids standing barefoot in the rain.
The shelter was blue with brown blinds
Runaways
Junkies
Prostitutes
Criminals
For a dollar a night, you can stay.
And here among the roadside,
The cardboard city lies.
Not a dollar a day
Or a dollar a stay
Even with rainy skies.
With a calm calculus
I extend my hand to the father
“Here’s 20 dollars”
“You can stay inside now”
And the minute I did
He grabbed up his kids
And made his way into the hostel
Is it impossible to think
That amid all the Booze
And the drugs
And the stink
That home is not a place or a box or a shelter
You’re family is your home
Ask Dorothy.
“There’s no place like it.”
nice
Especially, i liked the ending. You took me there with your words. Picture painted in my mind, clear.
Copyright © morningglory
Yeah
im glad you picked up on it.
Like I said...
The story could end many ways.
A butterfly beats it’s wings in Mexico,
and a Hurricane rages on in the Atlantic as a result.
interpret as you will.
will the father spend the money on shelter?
food?
heroin?
and if he did, what would the effect be .
maybe death.