From Summer's Reccurent Souvenirs

 
Dante enjoys his Winter comedy
with Beatrice under Virgil's care
but here , what here ???
it is hot, .......hot .................hot.,

but, me, oh me !!!
i am living  hell; a real purgatory

and this is my very blazing summer
the same heat, the same cricket
who exhausted all his whiz
and wants to pack his valise

and the same spinning singsong
the same sun, and the same mirage
of the transparent silhouettes
that waddle and wiggle thru' the waving heat
and the sun's ever aflame, slashing my skin

over the same long boring day
and the same way, with asphalt made.
********
this is what i have learned
this is what i have lived,
this is the turning routine, of a dead life

from summer to spring,
from winter to Fall

this is what i have, so far recorded.........
and the traffic road full of ponds,
ducks and frogs ..at winter tides
find a godsend pool in the main roads
********

it is the hot lesson from may to august
the frogs in the pond chant
and pass very fine times.........
***********
when the night comes
and the tired cricket can't change a tune
and the mornings, oh the afternoons
so long so long to die. bored at a droning hornet
around a very fuzzy lamplight..

so long that to feel the sun takes three days to set...
and silence seals the scene,
when zenith starts to bend and fall back on dark hours..

So, in my own Gehenna and the bones that burn
in my own home, inflamed by ignorance, and pride.
in my own home land, as a gringo i feel among my peers
among my own kin, then i tell Dante:"

do never complain 'bout your inferno, you can always
descend from your book, and taste my poetic Summer ''.