Breakfast in the Jungle

Desayunos in the jungle,
Music from the calle wafting
Through impenetrable green.
This is my temporary paradise,
Whether I deserve it or not.
There’s always a hint of pain
in the pleasure…like the cigarette,
like the pimple on my face…
we numbly don’t get the life
we ordered. For now, though, it
ain’t bad here on the Titanic.
I can’t forget or pretend…
My youthful ideals are all used up,
Or, digested in the gut of the real world.
I haven’t given up feeling the air around me,
Appreciating the various shapes
People come in, hearing the music,
Smelling the food….the whole enchilada.
Goodness persists in phenomena, despite
The puerile ambitions of petty men.
Thank goodness I didn’t listen to authority.
My rebellion is exquisite in it’s beauty,
Relaxed in accomplishment,
Delighted with open space,
Garnished with a wry twist….
I step on my executioner’s foot with a wink,
And beg his pardon.