Poems are hard.........

That they are.  See my car?

It's a 2002, don't mean nuttin' to you...

Twas (2002) a tumultuous time in my life..... a separation from her, my wife.

Divorce would soon follow that looooooooooooong separation....

Figured the cure was, worry, frought, biting nails, libation.

Me, me, me, me, me, me, me.......

Red hair, freckles M+ student, did I mention pee, pee, pee?

Some sit.......... they read........ atop the fence......

Victor, of your writing, it's hard to make sense.

Uh huh, I know...  brb, I've got to go.

This all started with lard.  Please (we think) tell us more, our brains will guard.

Mehico.  Puerto Penasco to be exact. Grocery store labels, a hunnerd percent in SPANISH, no idea how to react.

All we wanted.... was sugar for our cereal.  We'd find a box, bag, can, shake it, try to determine the material.  

No speaky (or read) the language...  can/does/did, cause much anguish.

It was our first day........ to be there for weeks and weeks.  Thankfully buddy Tip, 6'5" or so, I felt safe a few aisles over, as I could see his head whenever I'd peeks.  (I know that don't rhyme, I do that, sadly, all the time.)

"I FOUND IT!" he said.........

Visions of Cinamon Toast Crunch in my belly, ran thru my head.

Up front to pay..  Peso, conversion....... hella easy to confuse...........

Had a 1,000 bill in my pocket.. tall cotton... turns out, only worth $69 US to use.

Wally World in Mehico ain't called that. It's called Bodega.

Only thing I got, is the old aluminum block Vega.

We drove with caution.  Many questions did stem, mainly, the hell is a KM?

A hunnerd and forty-three stop thingys (ALTO SIGN)

We made it.  Ya gotta come to a full stop, if ya ain't, the Policia Federal stop, on the spot, ya gotta pay fine.

Back to Condo.  Let Millie out for El Bano. 

(Millie is hound pooch.) I learn, hard way, bathroom (El Bano) from some guy name Alejandro.

Unload groceries, twas kinda lame.  Labels on each, heck, we didn't know the name.

I got me a bowl.  Readied the milk, thoughts couldn't stop,

Come on Cinny Toast Crunch... Snap Crackle Pop. 

Grabbed the sugar we'd got from the store.

Cut it open, ready to pour.

Cut the bag open, I was gettin' my groove,

Tilted to pour, but... . it didn't move.

Twas then and there, 

as my buddy Tip and I did glare.....

That ain't sugar, nope, huh uh, it's not.

The hell is it?  Whadda we got?

Lard.

See?  Poems are hard.

By Enrique Gibson

Love, Victor'