Eduardo

By Jess Cook, Sydney , Australia

 

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 Berlin wall

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On his outdated atlas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.