Ah, to rise one morning
With the ability
To strum a guitar
And with a voice
To say “Hola, mi Novia,”
Would be everything.
I am speaking of
Entering Hotel Avila
Where my drunk compadres
Applaud like hammers,
Where a scarf of smoke
Falls in their beer,
And I climb onto
A small stage.
The room quiets.
Turning the guitar
I notice señorita Pacheco
Trying to be noticed,
Her legs crossed
And pumping