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

Age 80. Cancer survivor since 3 years ago. Work out 3 times a week. Ride my exercise bike 2 hours a day. Live a solo reclusive life. Retired a year ago from working with the elderly in a nonprofit. Started writing poetry a little over a year ago; most poems I write are fictional but some are not. Spiritual with a permanent spiritual experience. Write poems on many subjects. Always researching for many of my poems and because of my unquenchable thirst for knowledge. After reading and hearing about many near death experiences and death bed visions, I believe death is the ultimate awakening and the relocation of a lifetime. You may believe differently, but you have the right to be wrong -- I'm just messing with you. :-) View all posts by BobBoyd