It’s Friday and sunny in Globeville
and all the families are out today,
it’s yard sale day
in north Denver,
a small neighborhood by the soft drink factory.
houses of women
sitting on their porches,
listening to ranchera playing from car stereos,
selling rows of shampoo
laid out on their lawns.
the men,
their men,
are gone for the day,
inspecting Pepsi cans for flaws.
walking past a small blue house
I see a young boy a freckled dog and an old woman -
I comment on the weather,
the young boy screams his excitement back in Spanish,
and the dog’s tail wags faster,
knocking the young boy into red dirt -
the old woman knits a little slower
and smiles up at me.
fingered cactus crawl
up the houses -
a deflated soccer ball,
an old green bike,
a house of purple flowers.
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