"On The Inside of Old Town"
On the inside of Old town
In old Mazatlan, the streets
were alive with activity
the architecture spoke of its
own, in gracefully ancient lines
as the woman of El Cumelos, who
for six pesos
fed me chorizo and eggs, and a toothy smile
as the sun greeted me once again, and
I pointed out the places I
thought you'd like as much
as I, and even spent much time
at the vendor's bazaar
to look at everything, drinking
in all the aromas and musical
words. The old town opened
its arms to us, as to a friend
offering the best it had to give
You may be waiting up there in
but I made sure you didn't
miss a thing
The long walk around Mazatlan's bay took me to the heart of Old Town, where the Zocalo was the center of all things. Where mothers and grandmothers strolled with their children and grandchildren, old men sitting on park benches in a spot of sunlight, vendors singing their goods and a large bustling market sat across the street, with hundreds of stalls and shops offering every food or personal goods could be had for pennies on the U.S. Dollar.
This poem begins a series of poems mixing the combined feelings I was having, writing of Mexico and its people, and love. Love just seemed to continue creeping into everything I was doing, everywhere I went. I had yet to acknowledge that. Or even think it.