Below is another one of the poems that we came up with together--using the sounds and impressions we got from our Big Daddy's trip.
The Peruvian Training in Me
Dando la vuelta--they are many things to see
the crunch, crunch of a stroller, loose gravel
dusty tires, dust on the hem of my jeans, brand new
a mixture between Mexican and Jersey boy, a milkie drip in this galaxy.
Carta Blanca, it's the Peruvian mojo
in me--a Sega for $15? Bounce, bounce
your puffer blows--"Queda bien?"
All that goes well with you lately sounds good to me.
But here the children scream, "Let me out of this
bouncy balloon before the walls cave.
Let's switch your shoes, to keep out the dust.
Step, step, step to your Tejano drum--
beat, beat, beat the mornings a cold one.
And no one say so much by the cars
if it gets on our shoes, so much dust
use the "5 cent Bath House"
It's the Peruvian training in me--
No one says so much. On our shoes dust
and you know and you know I say "Bueno" to all the vendors.
They mouth "Bueno" back--pressed lips, cheap lipstick, and crack--
there is so much to be lost: the chanting children,
their flat tongues--dragons sipping air.
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