Philip F. Clark: The Day I Became a Papi Chulo

It was my usual walk from work,

in suit and tie, tired from the day.

I approached the ballpark. They came

toward me, laughing—a gang of about five

energized, jeering, laughing young men—

still dressed in their baseball stripes, bats and gloves

in hand, smiles still wide from an obvious win.

As they rushed past, an arm glanced mine and

I heard the words, “Hermoso papi chulo!”

From what little Spanish I knew,

it was a compliment.

(But one is never sure).

And thus crowned, I turned to them,

smiled, embarrassed, red.

They spoke other words in Spanish I could

not catch, and the young man then said,

“Mister, do you understand?”

I nodded. I wanted to say something back,

but I didn’t know, or have, the words with

which to crown them in return.

Vox Populi