-Arm of the sea-

Daylight shimmers in the green-
Eyed houseflies from their squatting
Positions on the screen-door

Facing the street and the ballpark.

Inside, where the food is prepared,

The swatters, made of the same wire-mesh
Moved like a featherweight's jab.

Water changes everything.

On the early evening banks of the river

We'd walk among the the crumbling
Granite-blocks, remnants of long-lost
Structures, the rusted cables protruding from stone,
Agonizing the atmosphere; The red-

Bricked housing project below the hill
Rising strong at her back where the dark-

Haired beauties of Sao Miguel fabricated
Their surreptitious plans for the night
At the face of the cold inquisitions of their fathers.

Fall River girls 
Skin of the olives
Dropped from the Azores.

The catholic schoolgirl friends of my sister entered,
Readying themselves for dancing that night.

Wind Song, Faberge, and dabs
Of their mother's wicked Tabu,
The scent of oranges and spanish spices,
Blending softly with kitchen aromas of

Tomato, cloves of garlic, onion and olive-oil,
Romantically filtered through the atmosphere.
  
Outside to the west, below the hill
A bike ride away at the banks of the river,

The dark-haired beauty of Harbor View
Number 17 Northwest, would be waiting.

                                                        Quequechan