Slurring

by Daniel Weinshenker

Published October 1st, 1997

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Tonight

I whispered in Spanish

In a stairwell.

Without watch.

To an audience of no one.

I whispered in Spanish.

Accents lithe and spilling

down banister,

wrought and rubbed

down with hands

with ears

with soles.

In the basement the accents

met clandestine, huddling together

in the shadow of the staircase.

Each word tumbled from step to next step

Uniformed children came down a slide,

piling at the bottom.

At the bottom, skirts were torn,

tanbark mauled the white.

A boy in the corner watched them,

slurring in Spanish.

And it sounded like peach skin

separating from the flesh,

pulling and cussing.

I whispered about this.