"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

dignifiedly old

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

Tucson

but I made sure you didn't

miss a thing

Copyright 1997-2011

 

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.

 

 

 

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