Ode to San Antonio

I remember backyard barbecues
by downstairs neighbors
Tejano music blaring for hours, infiltrating every inch
of the apartment on floor number three
where I’d sit stoned and spaced out.
Becoming overtly disturbed when I caught
my toe tapping happy to distant festive
relentless accordions.
Songs from a place I’ve never been
in words I can’t know
filled my empty downtime
daze of nothing pressing too hard.
Nothing really pressing at all.
The siren symphony never ends
in this fix-it shop city of specialists.
The sound became comforting to me
during darkest times inside my own
bleak landscape of sad pretty girls.
Starting distant then growing closer, louder.
Help is on the way.
Someone is coming now to save you.
They’ll know just what to do.
I’m not sick enough to call for sirens,
only suffering from a disease of lifestyle.
A fever induced by choices.
The heaviest of shameful baggage
hangs from my shoulder
because I’m packed and ready
for someplace simpler