Don Carlos and the Backhoe Loader by Joseph Edward Najera

the cars                                                                                                                                                       with lights shining bright                                                                                                                       move slowly in line,                                                                                                                            straight and almost endless.                                                                                                                                               faces dark                                                                                                                                                   with sadness,                                                                                                                                                  suits and dresses  black                                                                                                                                                                     as the shadows of night,                                                                                                                                                           eyes glisten,                                                                                                                                                    heads bent,                                                                                                                                         bloodshot eyes                                                                                                                                        watch as the Cat                                                                                                                                 slowly raises him into the earth.

the rattle of the diesel                                                                                                                        and dirt tumbles down.                                                                                                                           memory is all that remains.

tomorrow the sun will rise  and warm his earth above  and                                                                                                                                                        the songs of birds                                                                                                                               will filter through the trees.


(some thoughts of Mexicali)



About jedwardnajera

I am a Poet. I live the life of a poet. I am an artist, a member of Gallery 9 in Los Altos, California. I published a novel Nena the Fairy and the Iron Rose, available through Amazon Books. I spent over thirty five years in a classroom. My father kept a living record of his lifetime as he lived through the Twentieth Century. He was born in 1908 and almost lived long enough to see us enter the new millennium. He was a mechanical engineer and had a wonderful love of history and science. He entrusted to me nearly 400 pages that he wrote through the years. He wrote in Spanish and I have spent six months translating these pages into English. Now I am in the process of editing, rewriting, and revising them. I am trying to post a new entry or chapter each Friday. Check in on us at least once a week for the latest post.
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