Sometimes I wish my Spanish were better,Like to the point where I could speak it withoutHaving to think about it. I can get by, trust me,But it’s broken. Like that trendy restaurant downtown:Broken Spanish. It would be nice to write poems in SpanishOr even a mix of both languages. But my instinct, it seems,Is to lean on the language I have mastered. For now, at least,I can throw in a word, here and there, like tesoro.Language es un tesoro. The moon, tesoro. Leaves: tesoro.My computer always marks Spanish words as misspelled.I want to say, todo bien. Hasta la última palabra.In my neighborhood or barrio, it is mostly Mexican orMexican-American. Five gangs in the neighborhood.I’ve never had a problem. There are also many hardworking,Blue-collar factory workers. No pretention. Grit. Muchas ganas.Many have served or serve in the military, and even thoughI’m very liberal, I don’t judge them because honestly,If I hadn’t found writing in high school, I probablyWould’ve served, too, without many other options.I never know how to end a poem, especially a poemThat I didn’t expect to write, but I will go back to some moreSpanish words: adiós. Adiós to the sun and the skyline,Tonight. Saludos. Saludos to the moon with her accent so bright.