Bums in Mexico

We argued and cursed our way down
El Bolevar de Revolucion,
jacking our necks and voices
above the snake of Mexicans,
I claiming Man's intelligence
could not be measured by man,
you taking pride in your tests, results,
playing me like Euthyphro,
when it was moments after we
were both lost, two blocks from the bolevar,
grappling for the keys,
since each thought the other
would be lost forever, far beyond, "How so?"
But you even found the club
with stairs going down
and observed in true Hemingway fashion,
the dancer's lips brushing yours, et cetera,
while I found my purse for Twyla,
took a fast black cab to the border,
and emptied my pockets on a beggar,
trying too hard to be a poet.
We did better at the Long Bar,
elbows on sticky table tops,
leaning over, "Dos mas cervezas, por favor,"
discussing women.


(Valley of the Water of Life, Roundtable Poets of Hot Springs, 1981)