My street's nearly deserted now,
without pedestrians,
without passers-by,
without the cadence of impassioned conversation
or the drum beat of reggaetón.
There hasn't been a honk in nearly two hours.
Only a few pastel shades glimmer
from the building across the street.
My street is quiet now.
2 comments:
Great poem... Did you have to wait until 3 am for such a phenomenon of quiet?
Your line about reggaeton reminds me of when Damian was living in Brooklyn and wrote a play... The opening scene was a character on a fire escape listening to the reggaeton blaring from stereos in passing cars. It featured a lot of merengue and salsa dancing, and the street-level reggaeton music wafting up to second to fourth story apartments was a constant theme. I guess you can enjoy the "portable concerts" that go through the neighborhood inside cars and trucks!
Almost three!
A lot of times I like the portable concerts and sometimes I don't. I don't like it when everyone on the train has their music turned up and I just hear that hissing, muffled beat through their headphones. But I like walking past bodegas and hearing the music from inside.
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