No hay trabajo, by gerard guerra

Extract my place

Home of a mesquite tree

Pigeons glide within sight

Warm bread is my offering

The old man holds coffee

Stoically proclaims a disdain

How rough times can be

Red features traverse

His life on a weary face


Smoke drifts from his hands beneath a canopy

Stain less steel truck

Provides a meal till three

Wrought iron fence

Tantalizing daybreak

Commence my journey

Jabon! Azucar! Aciete!

Con eso se sostiene

La vida del pobre humano

Jobless and empty

Seeking refuge

 simple living of my brown people

Communally share my faith

When the sun sets our pace

Hoping my God walks with me

Dios los Bendiga!

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