Guadalupe and Brazos

Brazos

There is a translucent heat that singes the paint of the
Buildings brandishing pastel facades with a mystery of decay.
There is the traffic light the drivers ignore and there are
Slow, deep pockets of silence on each corner that
Swallow up a day's work and cough it back out onto
Those waiting for a bus that arrives one golden age too late.
There is the look of fatigue that is mistaken for
Confusion on the brows of day laborers
Returning from their posts as squawking grackles.
There is an indigestion that is defeated by a smile,
A flourescent sign flashing that reads "Open,"
And there is a slit in the door that bleeds
Cool air and peculiar music onto a sidewalk
That wears its glittering grime like a handmade tiara.

Guadalupe

When rainbows take the form of humans
Empty halls mutate into carousels of conflict
And delightful improvisation.
The security guard cheats time at the cafe
Where his jokes jitter like dice and the
City councilwoman reads her newspaper until
Bearded colleagues squeak in and butcher
Her introspection with cleaves of rhetorical questions.
When school releases cauldrons of shaggy hair and
Neon backpacks, skateboards whistle in
Polyrhythms over granite grooves as
The chatter escalates into a swarm of locusts and
Two briefcases make their way to an enormous
Carbon emissions offender perched before the pharmacy.
When round bellies bellow in catatonic daylight as
The veladora hovers above like abuela's warnings,
The marquee on the corner predicts the future by
Informing us that on Saturday evening
A cadre of dancers will reminisce for all of us.