POETRY

For the Delivery Trucks of Garanhuns

By

      Pernambuco, Brazil

This is my little samba,
humble and sincere,
for landlocked stevedores
unloading crates of beer.

For the shouted call and return,
the order and harangue,
the hiss and squeal of brakes,
the tailgate’s scrape and clang.

For grumbling diesel engines,
loud stabbing horns that greet
new friends at every turn
on every uphill street.

This is my little samba
to say below the noise,
watching the farthest knoll,
the trucks now small as toys.

Kevin Cutrer lives in Boston. He has published work in Words Apart, The Dark Horse, The Raintown Review, The Hudson Review, Cimarron Review, and elsewhere.

This is my little samba,
humble and sincere,
for landlocked stevedores
unloading crates of beer.

For the shouted call and return,
the order and harangue,
the hiss and squeal of brakes,
the tailgate’s scrape and clang.