El Cajon Boulevard
The sun sets a little
earlier to the south
As if God is allowing
just a little bit more time
For those who do not
dare walk across at night
Crosses strune on the
southern side
Para aquellos
que han muerto
For
those who have died
It’s Halloween, El día de los muertos
The witches stand
their ground
Watch how she waits
for the bus,
She fools only those
who choose not to look
Men will cross that
border, but only for her
Their wives think the
city ends before El Cajon
But the men, they know
Sobriety checkpoints,
foreign concept to some
This is not on the
brochure
America’s finest city
What a lovely little
phrase
Whoever wrote that
clearly has never seen this intersection
Euclid and El Cajon
Where gang members do their never ending dance
A game of battleship no one ever wins
No comments:
Post a Comment