Sunday, February 07, 2010


She came out of church dressed 
like her other life, purple, ready 
for the parties and las palizas, 
carrying the eighty extra pounds 
of luggage she pawned the day before. 

"Funny how a lonely day 
can make a person say, 
what good is my life…"

The first time I felt mutual kisses,
whispers nibbling on my ears, 
under the cover invitations penetrating,
taking flight, I went along
with the salutation. 

"Funny how I often seem 
to pick and find another dream…"

The boxer, the man I bumped 
into on the corner, 
Sylvia Rexach and her guitar 
taking my imagination
into humidity. 
We were one 

"This is me, this is me…" 

His hand on my back 
crossing me to the other side 
of the street, taking me 
to the movies, giving
me his lucky charm

"This is my life 
and I don't give a damn 
for lost emotion… ."

The day the Jewish boy picked 
me up from a gutter, sat me 
on his bike, and took me home. 
It was Sunday and I held him
as tight as I could.

© Sergio A. Ortiz 2008

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