From 1st avenue
to 2nd
to 3rd
all the way past 6th,
El Rebelde plots his course.
His pelo negro tan flowing
with wrinkled sleeves cuffed carelessy,
desorden his image
and boots his only liberty.
At 6th he turns
and skips across
A street
to B
and all the way past Z,
where letters and numbers
cease and finally die.
The spry joven, now alone,
sees his own reflection, or
(could it be?)
just another seeking Home.
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