bedtime at midnight or later
(every day of the week).
sunrise beyond 7:30
hidden behind persian blinds
that block out all hopes of light.
clocks that read 24 hours.
stores closing for siesta
and reopening when Americans eat dinner.
big men wearing pink shirts,
pushing strollers, walking little dogs
(machismo? machismo??).
families, families everywhere.
streets burning bright with diesel engines,
cars and buses never stopping.
cafes with sidewalk tables,
aluminum chairs, no menu,
fresh-made mariscos and salads,
always full, day or night.
roundabouts of insanity
(choose your lane! now!).
hazard lights and double parking
(are there no laws?).
fountains that intermittently
function (a choice? a flaw?).
kids pulling backpacks on wheels,
parents carrying boxes of textbooks.
kisses on cheeks and smiles
as bright as homecoming
(yes, we just met).
crosswalks and cart-carriers
carrying groceries home
(stop… stop… stop…)
tile sidewalks too slick
for my baby-bike’s tires
in a rare rain and zamboni-washed morning.
dumpsters divided, color-coded
for the good of all.
Spaniards who hear two Spanish words
from my mouth
and reply with long paragraphs
i don’t understand.
forty days to process an ID card
(patience is what makes us).
endless stores, all the same products
(charcutería, carnicería, panadería, frutería)
and one person behind each counter
six days a week, all hours,
trying to make it
(just like us).