Jun 14, 2025
The school day ends
I head to the bus stop
I could take the 47 to the 56,
Or the 55 to the 57.
Either one
Will take me home.
As the bus marches down the street,
I hear the sounds of my city.
Corridos from worn down cars,
The bass booming.
Metal scraping from the taco stands on the corners.
Cumbias and bachatas dancing out of kitchen windows.
The bells from the paletero
And the pitter-patter of feet,
As they ask for the Spongebob, Bugs Bunny, and Powerpuff Girl paletas.
Sounds of my youth being played back to me
On this cassette of my life.
