I find work teaching grammar, and writing
for a newspaper called La Verdad—The Truth.
But truth is never popular
with corrupt leaders
who rely
on lies.
So when the government disapproves
of my writing, I lose all desire to do anything
but listen.
I sit on the street beside Manuelita—a woman
who sells cigars—while she tells stories
of flying horses, magical genies,
and endless mazes
where ancient heroes
were always
wandering
ending up
lost.
Manuelita’s little dog
pays attention to these stories,
and then he listens intently
to my improvised verses
about the same myths.
The dog is called Laberinto,
even though Labyrinth sounds
like a concept too complex
for his wagging tail
and friendly eyes.
I’m already a failure
as a reporter, so how long
will it be
until I find
my own
pathway
through
life’s
tangled
mazes?