San Juan de Aznalfarache, Sevilla
In this morning I don’t know what I’ll find but I’ll know I’ll find it.
Stirring my morning coffee amidst this San Juan hustle and bustle of old men and shopping ladies.
Beside the orange trees or outside the apartments where people are sitting on white, plastic chairs.
Maybe across the river in Sevilla, walking down the street with the slick backed hair, middle aged man, a cream jacket balanced on the shoulders.
Or tonight in Triana, eating tapas outside the corner bar listening to shouts at the football on TV.
However, wherever there is something here to call mine except it’s not. It’s for all.
Bells chime. Wake up, I have something better than coffee.