Eduardo
Thinks he’s Cat Stevens
His thick locks deceptive in telling
His buxom age of nearly seventy.
And its 1970 before
The fall of the
Before woman became human again
He thinks us street dogs
Many in numbers, hungry for an owner
Ready to succumb to his beckoning
And yet his generosity is sincere
Except when dosing between vomiting
He took his hand between my legs
As if to inspect my sex
Yes I am female
But a person before my sex!
brilliant argument flirts
as we bounce v dub
past humping street dogs
their teeth bones
are scattered trophies on the entrance to his humble abode
Pato the duck quacks pecking at your toes.
At my house there are left over scraps
Of his past womanising
Some Canadian chick’s prescriptions
Bus ticket
And lonely planet tinkerings
But he never visited me there
A part from bringing other bitches
One Canadian
One American
One Chilean
As if to spur jealously
Obvious strategy
But he Never interfered
The key was never meant to unlock my chastity
His generosity sincere
But he asked me to stay for seven years
Grow weed and sell it to the tourists in town
He advised
Bake your banana bread for the bakery
Make poetry with Mexicans
The centre of the world is subjective
Take my Spanish tongue
Take Mardre Terra as your home…
But mother earth is larger I argue
There is more to discover that what is already known
I thank him but know this is not my home
Never say goodbye to those you know
Buy a night ride to Xalapa
Leaving a note in Spanish
On his outdated atlas
With his binoculars facing inwards
Take a set of canine chomps
And stomp proudly down the mile length
Of his drive way
Leaving with me and Cat Stevens
Even Steven
And other parts of mother earth
Waiting to greet me.