Streets of Bonoa
Between emerald mountains there
Markets sprawl under Dominican feet
Cycles a buzz up, down around the square
I watch as the palm leaves senoritas sweep
Ladies beneath basket heads walk the broken streets
Taps upon my shoulder as youthful vendors beg them bare
Along with a blinding kindness of the underlying thieves
Because I am the foreign, the strangness to make them stop and stare
Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2012
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