I Was Not Invited

I was not invited to whatever party these chairs are the reminders of. Maybe it was the wedding that passed me on the street as I was chatting with the tour vendor. Maybe it was the fiesta for the quince anos where the birthday girl showed off near the Zocalo, standing in the stretch limo and waving out of the sunroof as if she were some sort of a beauty queen. I was not invited to celebrate with the rest of the family, but I was part of the calenda; I, too, was rejoicing in the streets.