Friday, February 27, 2015

Once were Guapita, Queen of Sheeba

Once were guapita, heralded Spanish Lolita,

In your state of undress you channeled El Negro

Those hot afternoons wondering what to do

Lie on an unmade bed, make like a temptress

Elizabeth Taylor as the Queen of Sheeba

Your eyes were foxes’ burning with desire

Blue bikini, fantasy for sailors out at sea

What men, fists of stone, come knocking

Father figure, blood brotherhood, El Tio

A guapito calling far from San Nicolas

His breath, wheat bread in brown paper bag

Warm coffee in the rain, smoking cigarette

Did you ever make love without touching

Not each other but the hot body weather

Blew wind into his ear, called him Papito

Ghosts of mamitas and senoritas from history

Past lovers, past lives, glowing in a moment

If not by candle light, bright night glistening

Smoke rising from these streets, your mouth

Unlike that of chicas on Bronx bound No. 2

Dry skin, their Papa Gatos standing cocksure

Your face, classical music, Hollywood allure

Bettie Page, Betty Boop, dancing the hula hoop

Wet tongue shouting out, Mija, come to mama

On the same bed, you curl with beauty sleeping

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