Sunday, June 06, 2010

Soon to be Published



Fifteen to Eighteen 



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 at the santero’s 
house the day before. 

"Funny how a lonely day 
can make a person say…"
 

The first time I felt mutual kisses, 
whispers nibbling on my ears, 
under the cover invitations 
penetrating, taking flight, 
he was a friend of the family. 
I went along with the salutations. 

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


The boxer and La Lupe 
taking my imagination 
into humidity. We were one, 
him standing behind me, 
his hands on my neckline, 
lips on lips, 
a lucky charm locked 
on my collar. 

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


The day a Jewish boy reared me
from the gutter, placed me upon his bike,
took me home and set me into his bed
was also a Sunday, and I held on to him 
as kosher as I dared. 

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