The Day the Mermaids Sing
It's rough to walk tough all the time,
drinking malta in the street
as fire hydrants piss
their false salvation
into blasé gutters.
I throw my leftover Fritos into the
really wanting to dispose of
useless exclamations made by men
too drunk to see how colorless they are.
I'll say a rosary for them--
when I dance in my bright coral dress
and shake my hair loose,
when music comes from wood and shells
and my heart and what's inside my pants
are equally and rightfully loved.
© Amina Muñoz Ali. Published by permission in Centro Voices on 10 April 2015.