Patrons Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I can acquaint you with
The places that I frequent -
I do not care if it is swaddled
By grotesquerie
Or guillotined by salient
embellishments.

I will tell you where I am
In the morning bloom.
I frequent the shed where
I wait for the vehicles to disembark
And transport me to my destination -
I always ride with strangers
And everytime it rained,
They complained about the shards
Of rain carving their skin.
Some would mumble,
Others would talk gibberish
But whenever the rain swathed me,
I do not say anything nor complain.
I just let it rain,
And I let the rain skive me.

After the debilitating ride
On a vehicle,
I will saunter past the rusting pillars
And enter the establishments.
There, I’d be lost in a sea of people
Scurrying towards the pages,
Sprinting past the halls
Bumping onto each other like
Maniacal planets,
Some tethered to their loves,
Others, alone but not so much
A candid illustration of loneliness.
Some looked like dry sticks.
I always brave these jagged
Effigies, these sullen landscapes
Until I am out of time
And out of luck.

I frequent
(And almost pass the time)
Inside an elbow room
Where you can smell the serrated
Grass from a mile away.
I tell you,
During these burning laments,
These frequented itineraries,
In the excursions,
I have no accompaniment
Though I am saluted by the sparrows,
And the trees that gymnastically bend
And the barrage of the primal automobile engines.
Their salvo bombards the place
And the rumbles billow.
I am alone,
And the sounds of the engines roaring,
The rustling of the trees,
The upheaval of the trellises,
The violation of the belles,
The tremors of the freeway
Are all my friends.

They were in my circles,
But I was never inside theirs.
Whenever I frequented the places,
I have no one but still,
I frequented them.

And I guess,
I am not human.
I am a place.
A place,
That is also frequented
By desolation
Oblivion
And other tragic
Sensations.