I passed a woman standing by her gate
with her head tilted back
and her slender throat exposed;
eyes looking beyond her dingy world,
she swayed rhythmically
and I could see she was singing.
Inside my air conditioned chariot,
I heard nothing of her song.
Perhaps her radio was on-
Perhaps a neighbor was strumming a guitar.
or maybe she just loved to sing.
I don't know.
I sped through her world
of broken-down shanties
and narrow garbage-strewn streets
like a wind in the night.
But long after I'd left her behind,
I saw her song in my mind.