"He repeated until his dying day that there was no one with more common sense, no stonecutter more obstinate, no manager more lucid or dangerous, than a poet."
Gabriel García Márquez
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POEM OF THE MONTH
Rare was the town in Puerto Rico
without a Plaza.
My uncle Colón, sold ajo from one
old plaza to another.
His carreta, filled, almost always
pulled by an old Spaniard 's horse.
He once told me he remembered them
right after they lost the war to iron ships.
They marched in groups of twelves
Their eye contact like mal de ojo, dared
to intimidate a lower price.
They talked among themselves
like horses behind barb wired fences.
He dangled bulbs before these soldiers
who no longer saw themselves as kindred.
He sold them ajos.