Eli & Indira

I decided to go to Spanish Harlem..my mother thought it was Far Rockaway
"Make sure you're back by sundown" she shouted
The yenta coalition met downstairs daily in their sun chairs
"Far Rockaway? You'll schvitz like there was no tomorrow"
But I didn't stick around for that

Took the train uptown...El Barrio...got my bodega fix.
Ramon the owner gave me two quarter waters gratis.
The old men in pea caps outside looked at me like some tourist pendejo.
Not knowing I'd rather dish in their bullshit over the yentas at my building anyday

Watched as the clothed children smiled and screamed
Taunting the fire hydrant's muscle per cubic inch
Growing stronger each minute
A seeming ritual since time immemorial

The stoop where I drank my wine on was the makeshift wall in my old room
I could have closed my eyes all day and thought of her
Mi tesoro Indira... her hair of raven and mestizo eyes
As the boleros continued at fever- pitch
The ones where the singer cries at the end

I heard the door-open
record scratch
Dulce Restrepo came out in curlers
Yelling at her children in Spanish
To clear away from the hydrant and come in for lunch
Before it's gone
Bistec en cazuela

You want to take a picture
Of the hydrant and the kids
the girls hanging out by the snowcone truck
or the dominoe tournament by the park

Because by 6pm they become
the somber faces of your relatives
as you sit down and prepare for the enthralling
weekly ritual known as
shabbos dinner