From “Party Retreat” by Sheila Maldonado

From "Party Retreat"
by Sheila Maldonado

Outside, we get bodega supplies, water
bottles, ATM cash. We're a blur of waving—
good-byes, cab-hails. We're shoved apart by rude winds. 

I even poured over the books we have in our collection at work. Sheila Maldonado’s One-Bedroom Solo appears to be out of print, so I won’t be linking to any Amazon page or anywhere else you can find it. This is disappointing as I was hoping to read it in full myself. At least I can always borrow the one at work. Keep it in my office and read it during break.

Nothing to do with the poem, though. Not really. I am a pedestrian, and the other night I dreamt of opening a chain of bodegas nearby residential areas. That is, in walking distance from areas of impoverish areas.

This dream must have stemmed from my walk home from work. I saw an elderly man carrying two packed grocery bags—reusable—walking home along the railroad tracks (if you follow my Instagram, you know which ones I’m talking about). He seemed ok, but I couldn’t tell if he was walking home from HEB or Walmart. Neither of them are close by.

There is a chance he was walking from Fernandez or maybe the Dollar General. Still, a long walk from his home, wherever that is.

It would be nice if the Valley was pedestrian/cyclist friendly. It isn’t. No matter how many times they attempted to. It probably never will. All the plans remain on paper. Utterly forgotten.