Mexico: Ensenada (forgot)

While we were headed to Ensenada Langston Hughes poem Dream Deferred kept coming to my mind. I didn’t realize I knew the poem so well. It happened subconsciously. About the 4th time I recited it I had to ask myself what was going on. It was a combination of what I was feeling internally and viewing externally. I love how the mind works. Anyway, here’s the poem.
Dream Deferred
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–and then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over–like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?

But by the time we were leaving Ensenada I was “on to the next one.” đŸ˜‰


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