Poetry
Omens at Fajardo (1993)
it starts on the highway east
a mangled bicycle, two black shoes
just on the lip of the tar top road a blue car,
the police peacocks preen and strut
out over the Caribbean
the sky is bright brown, in the harbor
a capsized vanilla yacht
bobs, on the shoulders
of the carbonized mountains,
sunset, clouds
drive slow: dogs snap at tires
speed up: and young toughs chuck
stones at our jeep from the slanted streets
the wind off the bay
smells of dead cod
seagulls circle the drunks:
one bantam one has fast rangy hands
till, from a wrought iron balcony
water, by the pail full
slows him down
as the sun drowns
the first fisherman arrive
they wash in one at a time
then they pile up, steaming
clumps of rot and puss
Contributor
Angelo VergaVerga curates and hosts spoken word & poetry readings at The Cornelia Street Café.
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