Two poems by Miguel Gomez

Prayer

Running on torch-lit streets,
the city mute; 
I pass shadows retreating
across warming pavement.

Allah u Akbar
Ash-hadu alla ilaha illallah

A dead end.

I turn back 
towards twin towers, 
bespectacled nocturne eyes
watching.

Hayya ‘alas-salat

As I reach the park 
where existence runs its course
along worn paths 
beneath bounded groves, bathed 
in memories’ amber glow.

Allah u Akbar

I stop
     beside the stilled playground.

The swings standing in attention 
to welcome the Muezzin’s 
final supplication,

La ilaha illallah

greeting the morning 
reborn. 

Segunda Mano

Grandmothers would speak
to those still willing to listen;
through their spectacled vision
and seasoned tones,
that anything bought second hand,
segunda mano,
to use the proper term,
is quite unlucky.

Just as bedeviled as driving home
from a funeral without pause
for a cup of coffee
or to linger in the malls,
to shake loose those dearly departed
too freighted to take that final step
out the door.

Perhaps the same could be said
about those I bring with me.

They were a bargain you see.

Take the backpack
I got at half price.
Its seams worming loose,
a slithering break for freedom,
from a burden once borne.

“Trust me, ” trying him on.
Taking note of how
he fell against my back,
“A few shirts, and a pair of shoes
should do you just fine”.

I should also mention
the stuffed bear for my niece.
Its felt cap once red,
dulled brown by storied play dates
beneath the sandbox sun.

“Don’t worry,” turning him over
to inspect him for tears
that could have been missed
“We’ll find a home for you
I’m sure”.

Finally at the checkout counter,
I remembered that these
should be washed
to remove any bad luck,
or so I’m told.

If that were true,
then perhaps everyone here
from the clerk counting change,
to the guard standing by the door,
and finally to me patiently in line
could use a shower as well.