The M Mountain

I pray nightly,
from my upstairs
bathroom window,
and I look for
the Mountain
with an illuminated
"M"
representing my city.

I do not imagine
God is the Mountain,
or lives in the Mountain,
or looks like the Mountain,
but still I look for it
as I pray.

Some nights
it is seen clearly,
unambiguously,
while other nights,
the fog,
the smog,
the detritus of
this world
make it difficult to
see.

Especially on nights
when it is not
easy to see,
I remember
all those gifts
I trust in
and rely upon
that I cannot see:

air,
God,
music,
love.

I pray
even though
I cannot see,

I trust
even though
I cannot verify,

I am thankful
even though
I cannot repay.

Some nights
I feel at one with
the Mountain.

Some nights
I just feel the distance.

No matter what
the Mountain
is always there.

The Mexican Carnival

The Mexican carnival
creeps overnight
onto the empty lot
next to the dollar store,
across from the storefront church,
grimy,
miles worn,
paint chipping.

The smell of
sickly sweet
deep fried pancake batter
wafts over the
loudspeakers blasting
Adriana Grande
y las bandas ultimas,
enticing the crowd.

The rigged games offer
plush prizes,
faded by the sun,
mutant knock-offs of
Spongebob Squarepants
and slightly misshaped Minions
made in Viet Nam.

It’s only when
night falls,
and darkness obscures
the spit smears,
overflowing trash bins,
with the music blaring
from invisible demonic speakers,
the red, white and green twinklers
give everything an
ersatz showbiz glitz.

It's pretty,
even inviting.

I stand in the middle
of it all,
every sense engaged,
quietly smiling,
feeling very much
like Bukowski,

an unassuming witness
to the unlikely pageant
before it all packs up
and is gone.

[For http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2015/09/the-edge.html and http://dversepoets.com/2015/09/17/open-link-night/ - come along and play!]