they wash them in the early mornings, you know (what “they” I’m not quite sure but the streets are clean by the time construction wakes),
every morning in this part of town, but in other places, too,
sweeping the brown dirt from the front steps to their tienda or house,
proudly responsible for ten feet of public space, and it’s clearer every
morning than the floor of my room (or mind) will ever be.


I walked down the street in the spitting rain, splashing through
puddles in my worn black flip-flops down stolen goods lane, seeing
genius after electronic genius put wires together and awaken the
sidewalk with music (and knowing full well the better part of them
will never get degrees in electrical engineering, but at the same time
they’re not really aiming to work 70 hours a week and retire at 50, either).


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