“Good Morning”
The pretty Honduran girl, leather jacket and nice face, no color but her skin’s
Asks me to watch her brown purse
While I sit waiting for the bus in a country that loved me quick

She is walking across the station to buy her ticket
San Pedro Sula, the most dangerous city in the world, this is what I read first
And yet no children are pulling guns from their bedrooms
To spit bullets like words across the desks with hearts and old teenage lover’s names scratched in them

She is back now,
No, just passing by, going to the bathroom
Her beauty boots are untied and slapping the floor in dance
Deep brown scarf around her neck
She really trusts me, this is taking a bit
Looking for somewhere to charge her phone, the walls, corners, beside the ice cream cooler where they sell waters and sandwiches

I am imagining everyone here has the same father

She is back and has taken me everywhere

 

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