New Mexico

It would suit me to be sitting in a cafe
in a dimly lit corner booth with the walls
painted with the red of the dress of the dancer headlining Flamenco Week

You scornfully poke fun at me because I have so easily given up my tears upon the first measures of all live performances we have ever seen

I allege you have no heart
turning your smile into a laugh

I say they are a tribute I pay to the years
of their pain that led up to this day
that I might be entertained

Just for a split second your eyes betray confusion unsure if I was
serious or clowning

And you give the rebuttal saying,
“How valuable could tears deposited in
every hat at every street corner be?”

And we both laugh

As I grab a handful of bottle to warm your glass you competently slide mine closer, simultaneously skooching over

And we muse more about our darling

How the lines around her eyes and the burst vessels around her irises were
incongruent with her youth and beauty

Had she been crying intensly inconsolably in her privacy?

Her body tense and shaking
her face contorted as if screaming
without a sound?

Astonished to discover her willingness
to consider a new lover
and other matters to awful to mutter out loud?

And then you confess to me that you love flower gardens but you despise poetry and then adoringly kiss me hard on the cheek

So I change the topic to flower gardens, and for the rest of time I would never make fun of you for what they mean

That’s where I want to be

I long to be in Albuquerque
To see the happenings
During Flamenco Week



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