across the street--
his eyes are on your eyes.
Look out for the cops, he slurs. -A globule
A woman is the Holy Grail, the Holy Grail you see. -of drool
YOU would not exist without HER orchestrations. -slips.
We drag hard on reality;
Your fists flatten as you nod,
and I exhale poetry.
Good lady, quiet lady smiling,
Write this in your notebook--
Man's talk is not for you and me.
I dust my pants of fragile mica
fragments, glittering like confetti,
and bend to clip my words.
Copyright ©2009 Xiomara A. Maldonado. Originally published for The Song of These Streets.