For the Next One

For the Next One


Peter Pan, Peter Pan on a Harley Davidson,
Peter Pan on a carreta driven by a dream
unfolding like the señora’s fan when she watches

Wissin and Yandell move their hips
to the rhythm of a plena con ese tumba’o urbano
Tumba tumba tumba tumba. I can hardly wait!

“Oh Stewball was a racehorse, and I wish he were mine.
He never drank water, he always drank wine.”

Negro, I don’t see the sun on my skin,
it is all on your arms and your face.

Papi, I’m living for the children today.   Which leads me

to recall I won’t be missing you again until that hussy

moves out, the one you drive to family reunions on weekends.
that’s right, Miss Daisy, 25 going on 40 in the street.

How long you thinkin that’ll last?  Sopho’s been calling her name
while she’s been sending out invitations for bigger diamonds.

Peter Pan, Peter Pan doesn’t want to grow up.

He likes it the way it is;  Bella Donna between

his toes, ready to fly.