They Call It Calle Ocho Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

They call it Calle Ocho
what used to be the Trail
a place of wayside refuge
a timeworn tarnished grail

Warm dusty sidewalks languish
with dots of gum tattoos
dark rhythms creep from alleys
to soften Latin blues

A garish rooster statue
stands watch in colors bold
while knobby brown stained fingers
roll smokes worth more than gold

An aged Habanero
sits with a timeless face
as luck rides on a cipher
one Domino to place

Brown coconuts and banners
banana bunches pinned
to ancient iron railings
now fragile as the wind

Not much has changed as millstones
have ground for fifty years
except the bright eyed Ninos
are now old men with tears

They call it Calle Ocho
what used to be the Trail
a place of wayside refuge
a timeworn tarnished grail.