#12 Espinacitas Street by Richard Wells

Deep and rumble voice
of witch woman neighbor
some kind of Spanish
and it’s not a Hail Mary.

Cigarette voice
of youngest drunk son
some kind of answer
and it’s not “Amen.”

Barrio night.

Beer can hits the street
rolls to curb
stops.

Car doors slam –
ignition, radio.

Girl laughs
dogs bark
car pulls away – slow.

Wind in the trees – quiet.

Cerrillos Road and St. Mike’s –
low sound of cruisers like boats
around an island.

Richard Wells lived in Santa Fe from 1970 to 1985.  They were some of the best years of his life.  He moved because he was angry.  He’s no longer as angry, and though he’d love to move back, it’s unlikely.  Richard hates referring to himself in the third person.


2 thoughts on “#12 Espinacitas Street by Richard Wells

  1. I like the harsh sounds of a brutal place and the pace created by the short lines. How to say a lot in a few words – the beauty of poetry – the compression. The “quiet” line is a nice contrast to all the noise of the barrio. Where does “he” live now?

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