El Hombre de El Norte

I will be el hombre de El Norte somewhere
Far from here, in Mexico or Uruguay,
Or Spain, inside a stadium, transfixed
By futbol, swimming freely amid
Voices speaking words I cannot
Understand, a fish in unfamiliar
Waters, pleased by that, I'm sick
Of words, and living in a tiny flat
On maize, puerco and frijoles.
Tethered to the world by a laptop
And the Internet (in Angles),
Tethered to the beach, another
Baked expatriate, a rat, who
Ran along the rope away from
His old sinking ship to life among
The not so driven, idleness and
Halting speech, a drink, a cigarette
In hand, a life, at last, of honest
Leisure. Tell me, chica, will you
Love me? Will you, at least, come
To lay beside me on this stretch
Of sand? I cannot tell what you
Are saying, cannot truly sever
My attachment to el mundo to
The north, but I know I must try.
That place is dying. I'm alive.
I have some puerco and maize.
I'll feed you if you come to visit,
Chica, just be sweet to me.
Be dolce. I'm the pale intruder,
Nothing much, an old man who's
Not long to live, a dreamer. You
Can be my dream, upon the beach,
Upon a bleacher, watching futbol.
I will run my fingers through
Your hair and kiss your face,
And I will learn my place.
I'll be your lover for a fee,
And you will try to humor
Me, and one more hombre
De El Norte will grow smaller
Every day inside the flat in which
He lives, the fantasy of leaving
Growing less appealing every day.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 71 times
Written on 2016-10-28 at 00:55

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