HER BODY WANTS TO BE SPANISH

I saw myself today,

While I sat in a car,

A funky little baby pink Fiat 500,

At a Spanish traffic light,

On my way

To do what I do, which

I’m imagining is something fun

Because, well, cute car, right?

I believe I have a craft shop in Girona

With a window full of

Yarn and Beads and Ribbon and Paints,

And all sorts of Books

To inspire the

Very Best Ideas,

Which is obviously what I named my shop,

Except in this case it would be, I think,

Las Mejores Ideas,

But do please

Correct me if I’m wrong,

Because I won’t mind.

Not at all!

Anyway, I saw myself cross the street

Just slightly off the pedestrian crossing (such a rebel!)

In my bright pink and sandy-beige belted coat

And new silver shoes,

And I said to myself, Ooh,

I love my pink and sandy-beige coat and silver shoes

I look so cool,

So happy and healthy,

I bet I’m an artist or a poet; something awesome for sure,

But probably not from around here,

Although my body

Definitely looks like it wants to be Spanish.

But then the traffic light turned green,

So, although I’d have loved to linger

Just a little longer,

Watching myself saunter down the street

In my cool coat and shoes,

Looking very nearly Spanish,

Someone behind me honked.

I simply smiled to myself

In my little baby pink Fiat 500,

Turned the music up (Stir it Up, Bob Marley!)

And putt-putted to Las Mejores Ideas

In a narrow cobblestoned street in the old town

Where I spent the afternoon knitting

A bright pink scarf trimmed with sandy fringes

While a blonde lady

Read funny poetry to a crowd of

Mesmerized

Human Beings

With Stars in their Eyes.