Dear Mr. President,
Have you ever been to a quinceañera,
A right of passage, an entrance to the world,
A mass of celebration to coax a woman from a girl,
I have been to a quinceañera, but there was little culture involved,
And the old white man touching palms to his was slightly less evolved.
Because he’d been to a quinceañera,
And now that quinceañera is no more,
Because he’d tooken each last one, though just a boy of 44,
We will all go to a quinceañera,
At some point in our lives,
Are you the kind with dirty hope on your face?
Or the kind with the suit and tie.