Flying to New Mexico

Flying to New Mexico

I loath the airplane motor,
insisting in reminding me that I’m flying to New Mexico,
where we set up house as “us,” but there is no more us;
to that dry aridness,
so thick that it watered my forehead
every time I stepped into our back yard;
but you rushed to me, always,
with your green cotton towel, and cleansed me while cooing,
“you are my sweet sweat lover;”
which sounds funny now, because, I never sweat,
except still-now, when I breathe this air.

I squirm inside this airplane,
white-knuckling the armrest,
wishing the stewardess would drop dead,
with her peanuts and soft drinks,
and “Lift your seatbacks!” and “Clear the aisles!”
intruding my half-wake, half-sleep memories
of your hairy chest, shirtless, wiry and lean,
moving tub-sized rocks in our red sands garden,
and I called out to you, “watch the cactus Peter!,”
because, I’ll pull no more thorns from the palm of your hand,
and you gave me that stubborn grin,
which I always loathed,
as you never did get that chipped tooth fixed;
and I called you careless and handsome, and you said,
“Ernesto still-now, you are my sweet sweat lover”

I feel the airplane landing,
caught in the wicked mountain breeze
that always bathed our back yard,
and once it even knocked me into your sinewy arms,
but now it barely keeps pace with this airplane,
and I sweat as I hear the motor whisper:
“there is no us, there is no us, there is no we;”
and I cover my ears,
as the noise is insufferably loud,
and the stewardess says, “Prepare for landing!”
and the passengers quickly arrange their bags and coats,
ready to depart;
but all I’m doing is standing in the aisle,
still-now thinking how some day soon
I’ll learn to let your memories go,
let it vanish from my head, like sweat that dries,
fading insufferably slow, softly,
leaving me, cleansing and marking me.

Chupapito

Cocksucker


I apologized,
when I left her.
For we had been
the American Yuppie Dream.
Two incomes, no children. No love.

I appeased,
when we settled,
for too much money.
Her forgiveness I seek,
her permission to be
what I know I should be.

I am 40,
and we had been. . .
A lifetime, a union.
As friends, as lovers.
As husband and wife.

I regret, when I hear,
what she calls me today.
“Cocksucker,” I am branded.
A man who wants Dick.

Together 15 years,
And now these tears. . .
In relief or disbelief?
At what was, what is. . .
At wondering if I have missed. . .


A lifetime.

I Have Not Been Posting

I have not been posting lately (as in over two months). I hope and intend to resume soon. Nothing much happening, except I'm dating Reggie again. Hope to post soon. Ernesto.

P.S. to Myself: Who are you and what have you done with Ernesto? Why are you a happy soul again?