Lunch In The Market

The snowbirds have migrated

back to Snowville...just us true

defectors mingling amongst

Mexicans, that will let us live

if we don't smack our lips too

much.

The ones 'been up all night,

clinging to doorways drunk...

children in the Zocallo, gleefully

safe, enjoying childhood....

Bob, the token gringo trailer trash,

hanging at the coffee house.

I don't put up much with people

anymore, if they get too close

and start saying what they think.

If I think they're wrong, trying to

correct them is a waste of hot air.

A lot of young ones don't know 

much, but they have that excuse.

The good news is if they're trying

to learn on their own, make mistakes, 

and won't be told what to do.

So, not much cause to speak; the

truth and lies out on the golden

internet screen...one can find the 

truth...you can find the truth there,

if you nave more than oatmeal

between your ears.

Writing differs from conversation

because no back talk and freedom

of choice...so, maybe it's better if

you read my words and don't get

too close.