The 18:15 to Valencia Nord

In Valencia I witnessed:

A marathon

Human towers

A formation of dancing girls in the park.

Sword fighting enthusiasts with axes and scythes

A gathering of restauranteurs dressed like priests.

A caravan filming a car commercial

A Valencian beauty queen in traditional garb.

A man on the train with a pink mustache, and a weird smile.

A cat stuck in a window box trying to get out.

Spanish flags

Two gargoyles

A paella the size of a tire

Many fountains,

a Chinese New Year,

and James Cameron’s top grossing film,

Avatar.

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Boylston Place

I’m sitting in an elevated lecture hall,

built on brick city cinderblock high-rise.

I look to my right, through

Two layers of windows

Rising brick upper apartment building

There’s a studio room, with folding black chairs

A sparse room with photos on clothespins

There’s a family there, framed

by the window

A father, a mother, a boy.

The boy is a ghostly (shining) flicker

Who moves like a flash in the corner of my eye

Blue shirt, round face, strong short legs

He is running and jumping,

his father is sitting,

they move in an unchoreographed way.

I wonder if they see me seeing,

or if they notice the staring students I’m with.

They are still young, still handsome

The mother with sleek asian features, pearl earrings

Perfect black turtleneck, white smile.

I wonder if this is their home.

Next door (the same room?) is an office.

They disappear, is this where they go?

Young boy, crawling on desk-chair.

Ruffling papers,

I think there’s a wall between them.

The group gets up,

On their Monday morning

The boy runs the length of the room.

They are peaceful and interesting and after they’ve gone

I miss them,

(Wait for them to come back)

want them to return.