with her back to us, surely
she cursed me from the stove
just another dirty puta her grandson
dragged home in the middle of the night,
expecting a meal and her silence come morning;
a pale stranger at her table
she patted the scapular in
the gully of her fragile chest,
begged the smiling virgin mother
to save him from his own evil;
muchacho perezoso
scrambled vegetables into
the last of her eggs, warmed
tortillas and a dutiful brew
anger severe as the straight part
of her dark hair, her soft kid-glove hands
shaking as she placed the meal before us,
eyes downcast, refusing to speak english
even when he asked her to
sunday morning, both of us
sweating drink and soiled skins,
his long white car parked cock-eyed
on the sidewalk, just touching
her miniature chain link fence
lined with Therese's roses
how foolish of me to think she slept
as we broke into her home
with our 3 am absurdity
ancestor's sepia-lidded eyes
watched us with disgrace
from wavy plastered walls;
in her silent room
she prayed the rosary,
asking for deliverance from us
how naive of me
to believe she'd think well
of my grateful words for such
a delicious meal, her effort;
how warranted her disgust
Lo siento Señora
HR
