All jokes about papayas
get told and discarded
like empty sardine cans
in a pile in an alley
after dark. Another lazy

line zigzags down
impossible piano key
painted steps. Another
restaurant closes. Parking
valets roam the sidewalks

at night without purpose.
One of them, João I think,
finds a can of spray paint
and a blank wall.

Stucco street art

is not born,
does not die,
lives beyond

its crumbling canvas and hues
fading in every kind of weather

from

Mexico City, London, Lisbon,
Prague, Lodz, Bogatá, São Paulo,
Taipei, Bristol, Santiago,
Philadelphia, Buenos Aires,
Los Angeles, Belfast, Bethlehem

to

Montreal, Dublin, Istanbul,
Cape Town, Melbourne, Paris,
Valparaiso, Porto, Moscow, Berlin,
Rio De Janeiro, Reykavik,
Havana, New York City.