Big Mouth (El Boquerón)
Today, like any other day,
you stare down streets that fade away
full of hustlers and shopkeepers
standing in their doors, the rifle-toting
police and stray dogs, the bangers,
the idlers, the wandering fruit carts
milling about a landscape of
crucifixes and colonial lore.
One man sells coconut water
in twisted plastic baggies
and another peddles fresh roasts,
but you, with your big mouth, yawn,
cutting glances like an officer
eyeballing juvies, smoke exhaling
from a daily draw. To be honest,
I often wonder if you are asleep,
but if standing closely enough,
can hear you grumbling green with envy.
Towering over San Salvador,
stories are told of you losing your shit,
spitting a cud across those
powerless souls below – always a surprise,
and a not-so-gentle reminder
of who’s really in charge with one simple blow.
Author’s note: Fed by a prompt, this poem captures the fragility of millions of people living in the shadows of San Salvador’s dormant volcano.
“A democracy is a volcano which conceals the fiery materials of its own destruction. These will produce an eruption and carry desolation in their way.”
This poem is published through Wild Words, a weekly newsletter that delivers one new poem, once a week – nothing more, nothing less. I often write on themes of nature, beauty, and culture, and regionally locate my writings in Texas and throughout Latin America. The stylistic hallmarks of my poetry are rooted in adventure, nostalgia, wanderlust, discovery, and everyday life. You can subscribe below.
