polka-dotted white shirt collar 
in the rain, little black bits of

sulphur dioxide and nitrogen 
oxide, liquid smog clears the

Andean air, never knew the
mountains were there before

storms of winter, when all
is pure again, I wait for the

micro (bus), slicked hair under
umbrella, leather jacket like 

a Russian made man to hustle
on these Spanish speaking streets

in transit to work for finance
power company, electricity and me

daydreaming of Neruda in dirty drips
of sky just asking, why? why?