A Walk in the Mercado

México in the summer-time
Is a beautiful thing,
And I’m not just
Talking about the tourist
Spots like
Cancún or Puerto Vallarto.

In the Mercado
The people’s faces
Inspire my pen:
From indígena;
To mestizo;
To español;
How charming,
Mi gente;
How poetic,
Their manners.

In the middle of the
Crowded Mercado
I stop and buy a cup full of
Fruit sprinkled
With chili powder,
Salt, and lime;

With the sunshine
Gently grazing
My American face,
I dine on watermelon, pineapple
And mango.

I know I am home,
As I ask for another,
“Otra, Don, porfa.”

After finishing my snack,
I continue
To walk in the Mercado,
And hear the shop-owners
Calling out to passersby,
Almost musically:

“Rebozos!”
“Dulces!”
“Pantalónes!”
“Discos!”

I buy only a
Few things
With my gringo dollars--
A bootleg CD
Of Los Tigres del Norte,
And a Chivas de Guadalajara
Wallet for my younger primo--
But, still,
I know I have
Taken with me
Their dear memory
For free.

Tomorrow,
Si dios lo permite,
I will return
For another
Walk in the Mercado:

I know I am home.