Puerto Ricans and Diablo

In the city where I grew up
In the fifties, some Puerto Ricans
Sadly because they were few and different
Some ignorant people hated them
And disrespectfully called them spics
As a teenager I worked with Puerto Ricans
In a greenhouse picking plants
A father and his son about my age then
Good, decent, humble people and fun
I’ll always remember how the son and I
Had a disagreement about the devil
The son called diablo. He said
Okay Bobby, here’s how I can prove it
Go into the woods alone at night
And call diablo, diablo, diablo
And he will come to you
So I called his bluff and went into the
Woods and called diablo all night
I’m kidding. No way did I go into
A scary woods at night and
Try to summon the devil
The son won the disagreement
I was too chicken to try
What he said to do
Because what if
He was right and
Why tempt evil forces
If they indeed exist
It makes me smile
Remembering the son and the fun
I hope he’s alive today and
having a good life

Bob Boyd

Author: BobBoyd

Quomodo cogis comas tuas sic videri? 79, cancer survivor, work out 3 times a week, ride my exercise bike 2 hours daily. Began writing poetry October 2023, living in Greensboro, North Carolina, originally from just outside of Boston, MA. Retired and enjoying a solo, reclusive life always researching and gaining knowledge. Most of my poems are fictional. I write about many things: Spirituality, Mysticism, the Paranormal, Cryptids, Werewolves, Ghosts, 411s, Nature, Birds, Animals, Romantic Love, Death, NDEs, Women Persecuted as Witches, Fictional Characters I Create, News Stories, AI, Robots, Insects, like the poem entitled, Hail Caesar Bob, (about when bees were swarming me outside the door to my apartment), and many other topics. I write a minimum of 3 poems daily, sometimes more. View all posts by BobBoyd