He is winding his cobra hose
into a giant pot
it knows the way
and conforms to its coiled state
He checks his wrist
as the Cross's sprinklers cough and sputter
erupting in four corner rainbows
just for the latch key cat to see
Beads of sweat match the dew
as he knits his brow
She buses the kitchen
tidies and tucks, neatens and preens
applies her costume makeup
before choking herself with cultured pearls
She grabs the knife noting the missing
empty vase, with a handheld guillotine
poppy heads will roll, the daisies do nothing
and the hydrangea trembled in sweet defeat
Her paper mache skin tears on a thorn
nearby, she sucks up her own sap
Somewhere a horn blares
two trumpets picks up the pace,
accordions shuffle along
a guiatrrón leads the falsetto
Her heels dig into the Bermuda sod
as the peeks through the fence, tipping her toes.
An entire expanse of brown earth contrasts
the blue-white linen in milk chocolate hands.
The thick brick woman on the other side
pins and shuffles along a line, barefoot
a little dog prances and pops at her feet
carne roasting wafts in the wimpy wind
As she moves along, some are dry already
pressed and flat, stiff without starch
same as paper doll clothes with foldover tabs
her yellow tooth sweat stains circle her silk pits
Night and day
they do not say
or share a word
Next door
the paint has given up on its tone
the grass doesn't bear fruit, or wishes
laundry is pressing itself in midair
The Senorita hums and smiles blindly
Blanca sighs and tries being kindly
An alien in her own skin
not knowing how to begin
a new accord.
Escaping from the scalding sun,
Blanca goes back inside to hide
The Senorita stays 'til done
her side wafts with pride.
“El que más temprano se moja, más tiempo tiene para secarse.”
He who
gets wet earliest has the most time to dry.
Image of painting by William Aiken Walker (1839-1921) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
