On Espanola Way two street girls stare into each others’

eyes chattering like a hail storm on tin roofs. Exhilarated

by the license of emancipation.

Do the young invent life through mysterious accident?

Perhaps it is through accident that we discover ourselves.

I watch this coming of age beneath palms, blue sky,

and ceiling fans; drinking rum and feeling fine to have

survived my accidents and arrived alive at middle age.