Lace

I am 19 sipping
Turtle soup at a formal
Table with my friend Paul
And his grandmother in her
Big house on Avenida Insurjentes
In Mexico City as the lace curtains
Move in the breeze on a summer
Evening listening to her words
Of culinary wisdom in a mix
Of Spanish and German
As the maid gives me
The fish eye as I am
Not family but only
A high school
Friend of a
Grandson.
The lace
Curtains
Let anyone
Walking by to
See that all is in
Order within which
Seems to be a leftover
From Northern Europe as
Spanish culture mirrors the
High windows Roman villa with
An interior atrium and fountain
Copied by the Muslims in the
South of Spain and then
Latin America but not
In this mansion since
Paul’s family is a
Mix of German
Spanish both
Mexican and
Cuban so
My visit
Is a
Novel
Experience,
All these parts
Of Paul’s family
Seem warm but a
Bit formal in their polite
Etiquette which keeps the
Peace and even allows me to
Be tolerated despite my 19
Year old roughness when
We discuss politics or
Social issues which
Requires their
Patience as
I tend to
Peer past
Their lace
Curtains into
Where and how
They live in a
Society of
Haves
And
Have nots
Where servants
Strive to stay
Invisibly
Behind
Lace.