a poem in my pocket

Strings of red hot chili peppers hang to dry in her kitchen window.

She pats stack of corn tortillas on counter as the yellow bus stops.

Chattering brown-eyed children spill out and scatter thru trailer park streets.

Bilingual laughter makes mama’s eyes smile as she greets them in spanish.

Next generation will be educated american dreamers.

(American sentence poetry is like strung-out haiku…just 17 syllables, a paint-by-number picture.)