Rafi Lev

9th Street Mercado


The sarape wrapped woman
whines tamales
in response to
shoppinbag
man’s pleas


doting nonnas
offer biscotti to
wide eyed ninos


Sal shrieks
Non Toche
as produce mavens
sniff and jab


Vendors trade barbs
all warming their hands
over burning cans


wafts of stoked charcoal
and strong coffee compete


Muffled mariachis seep
from a brown young man’s
suped up truck


The Asian family smiles
quietly clipping grapes


A torn tortilla
straddles the border
between sidewalk
and street


***



Voice of the Turtle


These doors
of Cordoba


He needs no map
just a hint of
the street song
by the sweeping gypsy


A lullaby
the voice of the turtle
upon its return


He strains to regain his way
slender streets
vanishing walls


Torquemada still plots
beneath the bridge


Samir’s enshallah ordains him


He clutches a jumbled address
on a crumpled scrap
matching crooked numbers
on a moldy frame


A rusted key struggles
in his drunken grasp


Metal meets metal


Five hundred years


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