Monday, November 21, 2011

What Else Am I Forgetting?

Back at home 
the workers are waiting for me, 
one stirring a bucket 
full of wet cement. 

They are waiting
for me to unlock the door
but I won’t, not again 
as I have so many times before. 

Go get your Jefe, I say, 
which confuses them. 
Walk over & ask him, please, 
to come here

The workers don’t like to be told
by women, by anyone
except their Jefe, 
but this worker listens. 

What else can he do? La Señora 
won’t open the door, not until 
el Jefe comes, & la Señora 
commences to explain: 

no more workers without 
a Jefe on site to supervise; 
no more shoes in my house or trash 
flung in my yard;  no more urine 

on my toilet seat; no more 
burying wet cement in my garden; 
no more arriving 
without texting me first. 

Do you have my number? 

He’s watching me, el Jefe, 
nodding & softly answering 
Sí. After I shut my kitchen door 
he motions his workers 

over to his pickup – one 
carries the bucket of wet cement 
just beginning to glaze.
El Jefe drives away.

1 comment:

  1. OMG, did he really???? LOL LOL. This IS a horror. Not terribly surprising, but so hard to live with. You're getting some good poems out of the nightmare however. :-)

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