INS Sweeps The Corner

For a Sol Magazine exercise. The form is a dorsimbra.

My friend who ran the corner taqueria—
she didn’t speak much English, always smiled
when handing me my tacos, quesadillas,
which we’d eat sitting down, in family style.

A cold wind blew
through the bright facades
of the Mexican shops
on the corner.

They vanished overnight, the counter lady,
the baker, Hair and Nails, the import store.
The neighborhood’s “improved”—but I still miss
my friend who ran the corner taqueria.