“The Unfinished Country” (a poem by KPKeelan)

.

Under baking sun I stroll

streets of dust and stone,

from tourista boutique to fruit juice grotto.

The lyrical music

of dark kids at play

smiles broadly in my ears.

New money in my hands

and strange speech in my ears,

I dash to fragments

my outgrown Anglo-American ego.

Everywhere are gracious eyes

and an innocence of spirit

I cannot recall

even from the magical refuge of childhood.

Cool cervesa in my fist,

I raise a toast

to the setting sun of my Mexican adventure,

and contemplate

another half-built structure.

These unfinished buildings

that litter this landscape

seem to reflect the Inner Me:

incomplete,

but swelling with promise-

skeletal

and partial

and forever

under construction…

.

 (4- 16- 83)

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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About KPKeelan

Fool, Philosopher, Lover & Dreamer, Benign TROUBLEMAKER, King and Jester of KPKworld, an online portal to visual and linguistic mystery, befuddlement and delight.
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