With Real Toads--d'Verse Poets Pub
she showed up on my doorstep
one day with two suitcases--
looking like a lost waif.
my best compadre Dan knew her
and had sent her down from the states
because he thought--for some odd reason-- that I
could arrange an abortion for her
as it was still illegal.
i had lots of contacts,
but not in that arena
and i told her so.
she wasn't showing yet,
so we decided to make the best
of her time there anyway.
we had come from the beach
and were meandering along the Condado
when a local cop on a motorcycle
pulled up beside and told us we couldn't
be on the street looking like that.
she was wearing just her bikini
but it was tame by today's standards
and i had seen plenty of tourists
navigating these streets in similar attire.
then I realized he wasn't referring to
the bikini, but the way she filled out the bikini
(it was June, and she was busting out all over.)
he even mentioned that drivers
could get into accidents
from gawking at her (swear to God).
i took off the shirt I wore over my trunks
and gave it to her to put on and the
civic-minded embodiment of the law
allowed as how that would be acceptable
and we walked on back to my place.
we made it that night
haphazardly
and half-assedly
with her saying in the middle of it
"ya gotta understand
this doesn't mean much to me
becuz i still love Clyde."
(right--just not enough to bear his spawn.)
in the early morning
Nan came by,
cooing at me through the slats
of my bedroom window.
then suddenly shouting you bastard
(waking up the pious Puerto Rican family next door
who had given me dirty looks before)
and stomping off
when Lana raised her strawberry-blonde mane.
that cost me dearly.
but what's a young buck
trying to live in the moment to do?
years hence, Dan informed me that Lana
had done a photo spread for a notorious
skin magazine.
not once, but twice..
i thought about trying to locate some back issues
to see if i could find her
and then i said
why bother.
been there.
done that.
