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Esteban R. Arellano

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Member Since: Jun, 2012

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And It Was Summer
by Esteban R. Arellano

Friday, June 08, 2012
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Recent poems by Esteban R. Arellano
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           >> View all 14



One night,
as I smoked a cigar in my backyard,
the old Indian lady from across the street
walked over with her pit bull
and complained about the smell.
“You smoke mucho marijuana,”
she said pointing at my Backwoods.
“It’s a cigar,”  I explained.
“No,” she said, “You stop.”
“Listen, your dog barks all night long.
Do I complain?”
“You stop,” she demanded.
I said, “I stop when he stops.
Whatever his name is.”
She said, “Doe no.”
“You don’t know his name,”
I asked.
She said, “Doe no.”
“Don’t know,” I asked again.
“Doe no,” she replied.
“Wait a minute, his name is Dont Know?”
“Doe no,” she said as her freaking dog
took a crapzilla on my lawn.
She gave me the one finger salute,
and marched back to her fortress.
There after,
every morning
I’d find a steaming pile
of dog shit in my yard.

One day,
I planted jalapenos in the enriched soil;
and when the plant was full, I picked
and gave them to the old lady.
It was summer and the days were long:
bees buzzed the honeysuckles,
children played in the fields,
wives gathered in groups and giggled
like high school girls,
old men played cards
and young men serenaded their sweethearts.
The old lady walked across the street
with Dont Know and brought ice cold horchata.
We sat by my garden and talked  about the old country,
and the breeze made circlets of her hair,
and Dont Know barked at passersby,
and I smoked my Backwoods.
And it was summer and dreams were long,
and bees buzzed the honeysuckles,
and children played in the fields,
and we sat in my garden,
by the jalapeno plant,
and drank horchata
and let evening light
wash over us. 

 

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