Empty hallways lent to border sorrow
It was when the sour onion fields called me by name
Like La Llorona looking for her lost brown children
All those hot summer days, those dirty bronze skins
Racing like wild, shameless water from the small town
To swim in the heavy, manual ocean of work
Pouring into once lonely fields of pubescent onions
My youth, my monotony, drowning, near death
When San Antonio was a cool thought a century of miles away
Full of dreamy festive places and careless creative carnivals
Where the free panama jack youth flaunted their half naked bodies
Yet mine only sweating the far reaching thoughts away
Picking big-breasted onions in this dusty, faraway land
By the dry river some would rather soon forget
As thoughts dreaded another teenage summer vacation
Bite into this finely structured poem. It’s sweaty inside. It’s lusty. It’s Juan Perez romancing bittersweet distance.
Gracias Paula. Feliz Navidad!!!