Beach City Living

                   

Beach City Living

Beach city life seemed a luxury to me, our chicken coop apartments had a view.
Well if you ran across the grass to the neighbors,
climbed up the stairs and stood on boxes,
and looked over the sand colored wall blocking the train tracks,
you could definitely see the ocean.

When the builders passed around the flyer to the neighbors, that’s what  it said,
“ Beautiful beachside living with a view” in bright blue letters.
  Boy, the apartments drawn on there were beautiful.

They were painted in all kinds of bright colors,
and I bet you they thought of that because all the movies point out that Mexicans love bright colors,
and most of the time I’d say that’s right.

We’re a bunch of show off’s.

All of us got caught up in it, they had something for everyone:
for the kids they would build a state of the art playground,
and really that was for the adults who wanted to get rid of their kids:
while they fried the papitas for breakfast,
and later when they fried the papitas and nopales for lunch,
and then just before it got dark when they refried those things again,
and also fried beans.

Certain times of the year I think the parents forgot they had kids,

Like in the summer when the kids ran wild up and down the bleach white sidewalks,
with no food time,
or rest time,
or come inside for no reason time,
when no playgrounds were needed to have fun,
thinking up ways to get things wet and dirty all day long.

For the adults, and those who did not like to stink, the builders offered:
a square of a building with two washers and two dryers,
which seemed great at the time,
but not so great when you have to share,
and a huge parking lot:
no more parking on the street and hoping the Cholo’s,
want to be bad asses in English,
don’t steal your things,
but the greatest thing of all, for adults and children:

The bowling alley they promised across the street.
So when they said our church could stay,
everyone signed on the dotted line and for six months while they built the chicken coops, we lived in style.
A, so many foot, camper we nicknamed “La Poderosa”, the strong one.
Man was she beautiful,
long and lean with purple sparkling tape shooting up from the bottom along the side to the front.

We watched our house get torn down and I cried because I’d miss our tree,
the weeping willow in the back with all those drooping leaves,
it was then I think I felt my heart sinking, like when you do something wrong and you know you’re going to get it,
like a dog that travels on its belly to you because it tore up the trash again,
a black shadow passed over our heads,
over the church,
and rested on the weeping willow,
perhaps trying to shade it from the on coming blows.