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On the Freeway Between Buenos Aires and La Plata


06.21.19 Posted in today's words by

Max Reif’s most recent poem to appear here was “Questions, Looking Back” (May 2019)

On the Freeway Between Buenos Aires and La Plata
By Max Reif

Out the window I see
the Argentine countryside,
but it might as well
be Ohio or Indiana.

Much of
Buenos Aires itself
has a whiff
of New York City,

but the barrio
of San Temen,
where I walked
two days ago
and photographed
street art, 

where Carlos said
the tango was
really born: that
was Argentina!

And Oaxaca, with
its blue and orange and red
buildings, where I stayed
with Jay last week, that
was Mexico.
Much of Mexico City
was, too.

So many places
you go to
are not really 
anywhere, 

until—the way 
a stomping 
Flamenco foot
says “Espana!”—

someone,
something there
announces,
“I am here!
This is my rhythm!
These are my colors!”

Give your life
to have rhythm
and colors,
to be

whatever
is truly
your signature—

to be
HERE!

Ole!



One Response to “On the Freeway Between Buenos Aires and La Plata”

  1. Ed Zahniser says:

    I like the spirit of this poem! Yes, Ole, accent acute . . .

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