Didi

Monday through Friday,
noon sharp, 1976,
Hollywood High School's radio,
defunct on top of the football bleachers,
would go live with
Boston, Queen, Fleetwood Mac.

I would sit on the lawn
with my earth shoes,
bellbottom brown bag lunch,
and a Butterfinger.

Squint at the Mexican Chulos
low ride Sunset Drive,
smack loud kisses,
burn rubber to a halt,
when I answered back in Spanish.

Vulgarities changed
to respect when they realized
I was of the Sangre,
even though my hair was the color of honey
and my gringa smile smelled of guava.

I would blush back a smile
and say to them,
No, I am Cubana.

� Didi Menendez

Didi is also the Webmaster/Editor for Mi Poesias, an online magazine.
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