Quarantine by Lea Ceasrine
“You lying, no good pendejo” she screeches from the streets,
talking to her boyfriend, f*** buddy, papi chulo,
the categories seem harmonious in the night,
when tequila and love collide.
His replies disintegrate amongst
the honking, the sporadic sirens,
and I assume they’ve made peace.
I press my coral cheek against the window,
fidget with the blinds,
and wait for the conversation to proceed.
Somebody talk to me- I’m six floors high- losing my mind
“Baby, please” pendejo pleads, clenching his Mickey D’s.
She, I, we, refuse to be your happy meal anymore.
Dionne returns home with McNuggets,
harp-shaped lips humming “I’m not lovin’ it”
she hates grease, but loves the musical.
“Why are you awake baby girl?”
Shh, the street is speaking to me
Melodious and congruous with Selena
Here in my room dreaming about you and me
She rocks me to sleep on the anniversary of her death,
as I surrender eavesdropping to the stars and the streets.