Walking home from work one day,  in Jackson Heights, I heard one kid ask another, “did your mother came back from Ecuador yet?”

And this is what happened in my head:

Did your mother came back from Ecuador?
Did she show up at your bedroom door?
Did she kiss you good night, mi amore?
Or does she have to help her family some more?

Your father gets in from the bar late at night.
But he still gets you to school on time,
on his way to the construction site,
where he watches the women go by.

Did your mother came back from Ecuador?
Will they take her back at the grocery store?
Time is flying, and you’re growing, mi amore.
Those birds must be singing a sweet, sweet song.

 

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