I went back to Pespire at the weekend and I wrote this poem, dedicated to the beautiful little town and it’s wonderful people.
En PespireWhen I go back home, Where my head sits back in it’s dome, I’ll remember these moments in which I roam, …..en Pespire. Where the locals grow mangos, Dance to reggaeton, punta, and tangos, Salsa, rock, or some sort of fandango, …..en Pespire. Where the foliage is green, The stray dogs are mean, But the delinquency is unseen, ……en Pespire. Where the electronic fans work the most, The boys and men boast, While the women cook, care and roast ……en Pespire. Where the cross sits on the hill, The women walk past to thrill, Spreading rumours that run off the reel ……en Pespire. Where there’s an exotic breath of oxygen around the town, Their skins are golden and a sultry brown, Carne, frijoles and tortillas turn off the frowns, …..en Pespire. Life starts early and stops at mid-day, Anything you want fixed will be met by a long delay, Somehow it encourages people to stay, ……en Pespire. Paletas are eaten and water bags are bought, Wet Willies are demolished and Comal pans are sought, There are yelps and screams while the football games are fought ……en Pespire. The heat will knock you down, To the dozens of hammocks that hang around, Only sweet squeaks from birds and the fuzzy cackle from a radio makes a sound ……en Pespire. The storms and lightening clean the air, News comes from the next town that there’s a fair, The rain calls it off but no one cares, …..en Pespire. The kids will make you laugh, Cold water will be your bath, It’s okay to have sweat marks and look daft, ……en Pespire. The people they care, They give everything and they share, They smile and sit and stare, ……en Pespire. So when I go back home, Back to that funny old dome, These are the wonderful things that I’ll miss, The people, the heat, the food, the peaceful bliss, …..en Pespire.