"Una pequeña ayuda, por favor,"
stitch-stitch-stitch
his feet flit
on the floor;
laughter dances around him
and their eyes peek-
watch him speak-
cascading past his lips,
tumbling through the Cercanías car.
"How can he repeat the same thing," they think,
once more
he stumbles past
to the next car-
(hold their breath).

"Una pequeña ayuda, por favor,"
she circles around the fountain
in Puerta del Sol,
wounded seagull.
They come and go, and
so does she-
pulling her shawl close,
my purse, it's empty;
crinkling eyes like pursed lips
clocking the sun behind the building,
firelight:
What time is it?

"Una pequeña ayuda, por favor,"
tattered jeans,
scraps in the breeze;
is it a leaf flying past
or has the last thread come undone?
El Parque Retiro
he stands by the stairs,
he's there to greet you, go
down, down, down-
the cap on his head,
the sky behind him,
his eyes- bleeding cerulean;
peppery hair, like grandpa!
But Dad pulls his son away.

"Una pequeña ayuda, por favor,"
he thinks, the words are not there.
Pulling a suitcase
pilling at the zipper
like cotton candy,
faded Virgin taped on,
glaring at you-
he's in NEED.
Pennies in his hand a
gold capped grin-
shake, shake, shake,
in his fingerless palms.
No words needed.

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