Jinotega at nine

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Jinotega at nine

The streets are pale with pink and the basketball court lies empty

A white dog, scruffy, scouring and sniffing

Patters down the slope, the Hospedeje Doucalis gathering its girls

Behind slapping shutters

And men with baseball caps shift their groin as they leave

 

There is silence now

Nine o clock the city sleeps

Tender buds of coffee shrinking out there on the slopes

The slopes that nest this place

So no one can get in to spread their joy

 

Here no one shouts out proudly or beats their chest with pain

But squirrel away, on a rocking chair, fiddling with the laces of second hand American shoes

Talking amongst themselves

How hard to feel embraced in this place, how hard

To squeeze coffee from a bean

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