Manuelito, Manuelito,

you love the ladies

and they love you too

no hay nada  they wouldn’t do

like the pretty girls

who slither down  the poles

like snakes at Angelita’s,

come over to your table,

rub their breasts

against your broad, flat face.

and kiss your head

as if it were their rosary.

 

Despite your compact size,

your slanted almond eyes

staring from thick lenses,

you’re quite a dandy

in your blue parrot  shirt

and sleek straw hat,

quite a dancer too,

guiding women two heads taller

across the cantina floor.

 

But you want more.

Your mother caught you

with your hand inside your shorts,

your eyes glued to the screen

as you watched the bouncing beauties

on the tele strut their stuff.

 

Edouardo wants to take you

to a good-hearted puta

in the zona roja

who says she’ll  do it for free,

just to share the special grace

God gives untroubled hearts.

 

The padre says that would be sinning.

¡Que tonterias! retorts Edouardo,

you have an itch you scratch it.

 

Manuelito, Manuelito,

you love the ladies

and they love you back,

tenfold.

 

(Originally published in Mojave River Review)