Designer Bag

It’s the fishnet stockings. I always try to figure out if there’s some message that they’re intended to convey. This morning, it was someone waiting for the bus. Black fishnets, not particularly sexy old black shoes. A non-descript dark knee length skirt. Holding a Louis Vuitton logo tote bag. And then she turned around. A unhappy wrinkled face, a cheap cotton foulard, and OMG, faint pink streaks in her partially fading blonde over grey dye job. This was in a higher income neighborhood, she was obviously not a homeless person. Just someone who seemed to have given up. And the first line came to me:

The remains of a well-kept wife walked by me yesterday. Her dye job has been slipping, since her husband ran away. Her bag is still designer brand. Authentic (I can tell). Too bad the plastic surgery Did not hold up as well.

Peatones al poder!

I wonder what the result would be if every pedestrian on the sidewalk wore a sign saying “this is not a bike lane.”

Caminante, no hay camino

The cyclist rings to warn me that he's riding in my space. If he expects I'll step aside, he's about to see my face.

I'll tell him loud and clearly that wheels go in the street, that sidewalks are for walkers. And I swear by my own feet, I've right-of-way, and he does not, although it makes him mad.

He’s swiftly passed, three red lights run, and surprise! There is a crash. The cyclist races off unscathed. The old lady that he bashed will take a while to walk again, but it won’t make the news. City hall thinks that bikes are cool. Pedestrians, you lose!

Division of Labor

The explanation behind this poem will come in the next post!

                                                                                                                                                                                                             16_taxis_bcn
Division of Labor

Sixteen taxis, waitin' in line,
I don't need one, walkin's fine.

They say there isn't work for all,
since the economy took that fall.

I say,

What work is that? Compared to those
Who mop the floors and iron clothes!

When crises come, it takes a man
to see no work where women can.

Beneath your dignity, you say?
Then wait in line another day!

The red plaid pants

Treasures. This city’s sidewalks are full of treasures. He was impossible to ignore as I walked past him this morning. Barcelona has a silent dress code that makes anyone who transgresses it suspicious.

The gentleman in red plaid pants

The gentleman in red plaid pants stands waiting at the light. I wonder if he's dressed for day, or if those are from last night? A younger man approaches him, and whispers in his ear. Hand in hand, they walk away. I watch them disappear. Too soon to draw conclusions, unless you factor in the fact his absence is so short, and it happens all again.