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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Cultural · #1100242
This lived before...heart beats again.
The dark horizon was reluctant to give way to morning,
a touch of pink became a brilliant scarlet.
My dad always warned about red sky mornings,
and from my sidewalk seat,
I could sense his words coming true.

The Cruz Campos had run out hours ago,
Here in El Cadiz, near Moron, Spain,
Everything was running dangerously low.

Drinking a warm Coca-Cola Lite from a machine,
I awaited my supervisor who was supposed
to have brought me back to base hours ago.
Aching head in hands I swore off drinking again.
"Keep me from getting in trouble and I will stay on the wagon."

"Hola mi amigo americano."
Oh God...I forgot every Spanish phrase I ever knew.
Random jumbles of words flew through my mind,
but never made enough sense to leave my mouth.
"Bastardo americano borracho estúpido!"
Many thoughts popped into my head.
"Oh, I just wanted to meet real Spanish Police Officers."
"No hablo inglés" as he pulled out handcuffs,
which bridged the language barrier with a click.

The piercing morning sun
lit ancient cobblestoned streets,
and nearly blinded my sore eyes.
My dad had warned me about cheap beer,
and how hangovers ruin a perfectly good morning.
From the back of el coche español del policía,
I could sense his words coming true.

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