THE MENTAL FACTOR OF URUGUAY
I'd like to see you dance some Tango with your
big fat feet - all pretzeled up like a Z on an outing.
It would be something to see, funny, a treat.
I remember that time beneath the elms when
we looked at your postcards of Montevideo or
that place nearby where you'd gone to school.
'A little nickel dormer made out of straw',
you'd called it once before. Your hands
were nearly trembling as you talked about
those days. Tears in your yellowed eyes
made me think of something that must
be wrong. It was really hard to take.
-
I walked you back, that night, to that
mysterious hostel where you were staying;
that skylit atrium where we kissed goodbye.
I'd like to see you dance some Tango with your
big fat feet - all pretzeled up like a Z on an outing.
It would be something to see, funny, a treat.
I remember that time beneath the elms when
we looked at your postcards of Montevideo or
that place nearby where you'd gone to school.
'A little nickel dormer made out of straw',
you'd called it once before. Your hands
were nearly trembling as you talked about
those days. Tears in your yellowed eyes
made me think of something that must
be wrong. It was really hard to take.
-
I walked you back, that night, to that
mysterious hostel where you were staying;
that skylit atrium where we kissed goodbye.
No comments:
Post a Comment