Street Scene—Oaxaca by Ann Howells

On the corner, a green vendor-cart
pretends to be a gallery, displays artwork:
five grinning skulls, the fourth wearing
un corona florido. A red-haired señorita
struts in pink stilettos. Young soldier
leans on his rifle, chats with a tradesman,
leers. I buy a fat chorizo on a stick.

My Spanish, fluent only in the lyrics
of La Celito Lindo, relies heavily
on Habla despacio, por favor,
and renders me unable to locate
a post office. I hail a shawled señora,
extend my scribbled postcards, point
where a stamp would go, shrug.

She puzzles a moment, while pelicanos
surf the breeze, youngster on a skateboard
avoids collision with a hunched abuela
cuddling a white kitten, then
comprehension! She responds volubly,
taking my arm and pointing.
I do not forget, Muchas gracias, Senora.
She smiles broadly at the silly tourista
befuddled by la casa de correos.