chitchat & dives
my friend mirtle, liked coming over
& she’d say, “let’s get wine.”
we’d go to the dives near the slaughterhouse.
sit as far away from the barstools as possible,
she’d talk about her husband’s literary pursuits
but other poets got in there too:
big al sunshine,
i mostly drifted,
thought about puerto rican girls
with big tits, lay-offs,
Al-Qaida & airport security.
mirtle was excited about roscoe’s new book
‘cuz of the back cover photo.
his nose wasn’t right but
his abs were cut
& he was well endowed.
one day i told her i’d rather listen
to a wench talk about the tricks she was turning
on the park bench.
i should have stuck to wine & chitchat
the mink was tight,
a hundred pounds heavier
precious “Wandrous Butterfield”
like an 8 on the ledge of a typewriter
ribbon, unlike an ordinary day
pleased with the roll
& the rolling, the “what the fuck you
laughin’ at motherfucker.
i’m on two legs, two, not one.
(right smack in the middle of it all,
i’m not giving back the mink.”
All rights reserved to Sergio A. Ortiz