A bag full of button pushers

Flor de Caña                            mapacho spliffs
       for breakfast
on the way to Managua

     three days
without CB1 antagonization
outside of Masaya on a small papaya farm

       mutts with dangling     udders
  tied to palm trees          smoke
rising from a volcano                a little puppy
     appears          a tarantula walks by
                  The Great Gatsby

           in the little green honda
    dish out cordobas
treble techno taxi
    smell of burning trash
everywhere           zoombeep the chicken bus

                    you played
       with your astral hoop              taking
                long exposure shots of the light
       patterns                thinking I was in
love              wondering if we were
really                  just                              I

didn’t sleep
     ’til we passed thru Granada
                     the oldest city in the Americas
skeptical as a blown up hospital
                or a crater lake gone dormant  
  for a swim         a silver married Aerostar      
wandering the streets for Toña at 3am

¿Puedo comprar una cerveza?
               …¿Que?                                Toña
              Ohhhhhh…                           gracias
                         
                     Sólo… necesito veinte cordobas

  all gated up wasted bodies littered the street 

Sólo           necesito
veinte       cordobas            
                                                No tengo, no tengo
            (fireworks every thirty minutes all night)

Trout said it wasn’t the cactus
                          I was looking for
      Weefee San Juan Del Sur
                               volcanic earthquakes
       at the bar
                               the power goes out
  every other hour
     a Jesus and Mary parade         assembles
a Jamaican with a    levamisole handshake
                                           mirths gold teeth

           Landcruiser pothole buzzhands ring
                  in the howler monkey’s
       jungle         their howls in the blue morning
heard for misty miles        swaying in the windy
      trees                going for a walk down
    to Playa Mathilda                           two girls
              with red eyes on the beach
        making necklaces

                                   You got any weed?

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21 thoughts on “A bag full of button pushers

  1. Jim Valero

    Very down-to-earth and interesting. Great imagery. I like the interspersing of Spanish phrases–they make a nice contrast with English. I wonder if “No tango, no tango” (“tango” is music from Argentina), should be “No tengo, no tengo” (“I don’t have any.”)

    Reply
    1. pseudonymous Post author

      You’re absolutely right thank you! Shows how good my Spanish is! I wouldn’t be surprised if I was pronouncing it tango at the time too—I have vague memories of my ex telling me the difference a few times—

      Reply
  2. effervescence journal

    This poem creates such a vivid sense of place. I really love it. I think mixing languages in poetry is an interesting concept but it’s hard to pull off – I think you’ve done well. You’ve got me wanting to start writing poetry again, so thanks! 🙂

    Reply
  3. purgatori

    I agree with what someone said above, it is energetic and captures the context so well I will have to read it over again!

    Reply
  4. egonza2018

    Again, wow. I am taking notes on your form. You have a great ability in not only in being present and in tune with your surroundings, but also you have a great capacity in writing your observations, and really your inspiration and awe, on paper. You turn the ordinary into extraordinary and that deserves to be said on your behalf. Thank you for sharing.

    Reply
  5. Kalimelo

    Merories, speaks
    as i read your poem, it sent me way back in a split of eye-blink to childhood, into the 70ies, then recolled, Flore do Brasil, Brasilinas, and Camelia Sport, just few, those where the name of cigarettes packs, sold in these era, in Algiers, Algeria, my father owned a tabaconist stand, in Hydra a small city on the heights of algiers. There were more than a100 names of brands from contries all around the world, and bottles of perfumes of reknown marks, garnishing the shelwes of the bookstand store, the aroma, subtle scents, emplifyied theair in room, so that, sometimes i was dreamimg of far horizons, how the world shrunk into a pocket smartphone website and then hystory catches up on you now,as i am reading your post.
    beautifull poem, thanks for sharing

    Reply
  6. SonniQ

    No, I don’t have any but I’m wishing I did. I stopped years ago. I’m 61 and it only put me to sleep. But it’s 6:30 AM and I’m awake -still. In pain. That sucks. Maybe it would help. So I’ve been reading. Saw your blog. I’ve been reading quite a few pieces. Made me think and took my mind off pain. So thank you for words. Maybe I can sleep now.

    Reply

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