I worked the summer after high school
in a parking garage
in old San Juan.
My sister's boyfriend's folks
owned a few businesses
in Puerto Rico,
and that's how I got the gig.
Looking back,
he was probably
just trying
to get rid of me.
That summer was outstanding,
because all I did was chase Latin girls,
drink Heinekens,
and work without paying rent.
The drinking age is 18 in PR,
but I am now 40,
and I don't drink,
and I am paying for a fancy hotel.
So I write on the beach
in the mornings,
and walk the town
in the afternoon.
I found a poetry place,
where I stashed
some of my books
and sat in on an open mic.
But I did not read
or talk to any of the pretty girls,
because I didn't want to disturb
this world, taint it in any way.
at night you’ll notice
how massive night is when
you're voluntarily lonely.
how massive night is when
you're voluntarily lonely.
I always said
I wanted to come back
and see a different side
of the island's beauty.
Happily, along with two tour guides—
Adam Santiago and Ruben—
I found it's reality,
because reality is what I desire these days.
my spirit still dwells,
in the silvery San Juan with its streamlet and dells,
in the silvery San Juan with its streamlet and dells,
or back to Brooklyn, Florida, or hell.