After George Michael
By Anna Trevathan, Managing Editor
In the Cantina, someone chose to play American music,
A George Michael song no one knows the words to is on,
The saxophone transcending language and culture plays,
And two men’s eyes meet.
The bartender keeps a special jarrito at the bar,
For his favorite Patron, the one that stays late,
And sometimes drinks so much he stays the night,
And whispers song titles that he wants to hear.
They will dance too close for the borrachos,
Men in the village will speculate and alert abuelas,
The Patron’s mother will scold him, and want him home,
But the bartender has become his home.
Smoke from the hand rolled cigars will fill the air,
And women will dance with their legs between the mans,
Heads leaning on scruffy, sweaty necks,
And the bartender will hold eye contact, filling the cup.
They could have been so good together.
