san poncho afternoon

honest to hay-zeus. i’m 3-o-clock drunk in San Poncho. locals are in from the morning surf and passed out in big v-neck white shirts beside me. my toes in the sand. their workboots and running shoes kicked up for an afternoon siesta. pink bodysuited twins yelping over green plastic watering cans to the left.

this stunning margarita perfectly frames my mother’s dozing blue eyes.

buenos tardes, como diaz?

they would come visit us and we’d all get packed into the car and go for a drive. all of us.
or play cards. SCAT.
i remember we went to the canso causeway… some beach. and there were so many jellyfish. and we’d pick them up and put them in the bonfire.
poor little jellyfish.

he still worked when i was little. would come home covered in smoke and coal.
his dad died before he was born. on a dare, “i bet you can’t pick up this boulder!”
it burst his heart.

he rode the rails to saskatchewan. found work in the fields and put himself through high school.

generational scope.
1899 – dad’s mom. she died in, i think, 1967
1925 – dad
1950 – mom
1986 – you

spanish total eclipse of the heart blaring silently on speakers you’d imagine on a palaypa roof.

my great grand parents were alive when i was born…
do you think it’s crazy how fast time is moving now?
time isn’t moving any faster now.

but… and my words are lost…

“mommy mommy mommy..”

you’re like a little kid.


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