Nirvana in a Mexican Restaurant

I crossed the intersection
cursed at an inconsiderate driver-
took a seat in
"la casa del pueblo,"
confirmed my usual of a margarita with Ramon
(un caballero suave y simpatico,)
self-consciously lit a Nat Sherman cigarillo,
and savored the many bright, random colors
which swirl about any given Mexican restaurant
en esto Los Estados Unidos

Used to live a couple blocks from here
in a basement apartment down
a fearful, jagged set of stairs
I never tumbled down but could have
I suppose
(some wine drenched night returning
from one of S.O.U.'s now dry and sobered art-openings)

I'm lonely and look longingly
at a cheerful senorita bonita
with her respectable looking parents
(estoy pobre
y esto es mal)
but the margarita's strong and tall
and when it's gone
I finger my Saint Christopher pendant,
and study the sombero on the wall

No se, no se-
maybe I'll make it to Mexico again
after all

"un mas Ramon-
no, uno pacifico por favor"