A Summer Fiesta


From a distance,

the amplified notes become garbled,

distorted by the intense heat and humidity

of the summer evening.

I can imagine frantic dancers

in colorful clothing

swirling happily like bees at a honey dance

as the banda music beats repetitively on and on,

tumbling and twirling on successive waves of sweat.

’till the tide rises an’ the tuba gurggles

an’ the drummer splashes helplessly,

laughing in some strange language unknown to me.

The festive colored lights flicker out one by one,

drowned in a wash of overheated dampness,

but the fiesta is not over,

the leader announces in excited staccato español.

The trumpeter calls for another round of tequila

before the next set begins,

while from afar, I sit and nod, alone in my chair,

bleary eyed, as the fan labors on,

awaiting the next dream.



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