To the Little Boy in Queretaro in the Orange V.W. Bug

Press those little palms to the window
to see this world, push to be in dusty trafficked streets
where there’s a chance of
there’s always this
in the plaza de armas
fireworks gunshot the sky because it’s Friday, because
we are here and alive

the sky seconds
before was the color of a ripe mango
and now muddy clouds foretell a chance of rain

Little boy
take a chance,
for a second
stand with no seatbelt, press your nose to the glass

A man on stilts
walks, his black pants slim tunnels to the cement
a couple
walks past and the man says estamos aqui,
we are here
in the plaza de armas
where the governor’s wife once slid secrets from
her locked door and dared to start the Mexican Independence.

Little boy
I dare you to be more than the rust on your Dad’s car,
than the rip in your little sleeve.
As water shuffles through sky, little boy
take a chance
stand here, open your mouth and swallow the rain.

For a second, the man on stilts trips
in the plaza de armas his head touches tree tops,
for a second, balance, for a second
there’s always this.