Cheap Posada Blues Poem by David Kowalczyk
Cheap Posada Blues
The raucous band playing
in the cantina courtyard
across the street thinks
you're throwing beer bottles
at them from your balcony
only because you have no
bouquets of roses.
They self-destruct throughout
the night, weaving in and out of
your over-easy dreams, until
the next morning, when you awaken
to find yourself on exhibit at
Ripley's Believe It Or Not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/10/2024 8:36:42 PM # 1.0.0.1119
IMHO, not quite up to snuff with your other work. Something seems to be missing from this poem, but I can't say exactly WHAT.