17th Street Poem by Juan Olivarez

I rememember 17th street
Before the tower.
My uncles cantina
One block over on 18th.
I remember being hoisted
On top of the bar
Singing at the top of my lungs
For tio Matias patrons
I Remember my reward
A small bottle of coke
For a job well done.
I remember tios hugs and smiles
Through his big Grizzly beard.
I remember walking back to 17th st.
With dad
The enchanting smell
Of the Mexican restaurants.
The smell of Mexican gasoline
And how it nauseated me.
I remember the weekend crowds
With their paper shopping bags
But most of all, I remember
The painted whores and their
Skimpy dresses
And the intoxicating scents
That seemed to permeate the air
Around them.
To me they seemed like princesses
From a story book.
They smiled at me and
I smiled back.
Once I asked one
If she wanted me to sing her a song
She asked how much?
Dad laughed for some reason
And whisked me away.
I have always been fond
Of 17th street.

29 Palms California. April 17th 2016
What we were