Roses roasting and spitting red in sunlight hour.
The suburbs of Spain squealing their turmoil.
Lovers lying abed at noon and at midnight,
their lovers’ way around them, in sheets, in pillows.
TVs all over the world tirelessly screeching
down memory lane.
The husband of infidelity a decade late for dinner.
The sinner waiting to be drowned in fiery holy water.
Your thoughts snuffed out of you before
you’re able to let them fly free in voice.
A sharp and accurate concentration ripped of its patience.
Loved ones making their way out
Death’s door before you’ve hardly had a chance.
The beats of musical multitude beating from wall to wall.
Your throat sick to death of its voice.
Trolls dancing about your bedroom in dripping-blood-red dark.
The huff and the puff of your eternity
riding before you, toiling through time before you.
Taco farts coming out of old ladies as you try to enjoy a chalupa.
Expired love walking stick-dead before you on all fours.
Liquid seconds melting in your hands, seeping through your fingers.
The march to the grave in its solemn uniform.
Women you’ve had, women you have, women you will have.
Men you’ve had, men you have, men you will have.
Smiles coming from aisles in the supermarket when you least expect.
The stars filled with laughs and no sight of heartache.
Cups filled way more than full.
Bagboys in love, secretaries in love, nurses in love.
Trashmen in love, schoolteachers deeply in love.
You turning into poetry as the days pass.
Poetry turning into you as the days pass.
Sing while you may.
Author: Roberto Cruz, Jr
Roberto Cruz, Jr is a local writer, musician, poet and traveler.