BAG LADY

every old lady lives in a shoe

until she doesn't fit any more

she grabs her huge bag

and limps out the back door

aimless and shameless on her way

clutching all her possessions

with her small knotted hands

and all her strange obsessions

wrinkled face and ancient hat

bag full of rags and tins

bottles and an old ring

she found in some public literbin

now without her shoe

with just her bag on the street

her face that has no curse

just a smile for the people she will meet

the old bag lady wandering aimlessly

with her feet covered in dirt

walking the downtown streets

full of surprises but always alert

first line by Carolee RWP

Precious Water

fetch a pail of water

a morning ritual

allows them precious water

Grizzled Faces

I was crying all the time then

I cried on the Malecon

leaving Havana

I cried hearing Ferrer

his voice seasoned with cigars and rum

I cried hearing Pinero

his chapped lips blowing his trumpet

I cried with the buildings

crumbling to the ground

I cried with the ghost of Jose Marti

and his final poem

I cried with all the sadness

of the grizzled old faces

Happiness existed

as we all cried.

Twenty Ninety Nine

My digital is my eye

my computer is my head

hair is no longer in style

all square heads named Fred.

I snapped an eye with my camera

not knowing there was no connection

between head and computer

and square heads with no errection.

When my lens fell to the floor

I cried with no tears

completely blind with no digital

longing for yesterday and all the years.