My Wish/Tequila Ballad

By Emmeline Wuest

My Wish for a Long Lasting Love

 

The sun hangs higher in the sky every evening

And the young lovers flock to our city’s cafes

Preening old limericks about summer days and fresh faced lust

 

If I were to compare thee to a summer’s day,

I would say that your temperance is like the sun

And smile like a sticky afternoon

Humidity doesn’t have a concept of personal boundaries

            Nor good timing

Your scalp like a dried up hydrangea

Begging for just a drop of rain

 

The varnish of your laugh has worn off and now

Sounds like a seagull heckling children at the beach

Your teeth, once as straight as fresh backsplash tile

Twists this way and that like the cobblestone that puts knots in my feet

Blue veins twist and meander

Across your arms, tangling across your knuckles

The same ones that would once brush a sweaty ringlet

Away from my face

            Deep in the quiet night

Your legs look like a lamppost and after meals you smell

Like a forgotten crate of melons in the cellar

Overripe, pungent, burning a cigar to clear the air

 

You’ve gotten more soft, plump

Taking cream in your coffee and pouring an extra saucer

For the cat when I’m off at the market

 

I’m not as fresh faced at the many Ma’Donellas keeping watch

Over the quiet alleys but your eye only lingers on me

And your mouth sings only of my beauty, my wrinkles and proud belly

Rubbing the knots from my feet, you scoff,

            Pah! Roma in June has nothing on my wife.

 

 

Tequila Ballad

 

They sing in the symphony at night.

Rising, falling voices,

looking for lovers in the summer darkness.

 

Her song carried him past the tall iron gates that screeched

 every time they split open.

Over the dust stained stone,

into the courtyard of salsa dancers and light.

The aria of fertility hastened his journey into the stone labyrinth,

but the stale air burned his eyes.

No dirt in sight.

He echoed the ballad.

Disgusted feet stomped at his wings.

 

Pick at the copper strings and sing me a different love song

as I sip at the tequila and think back to my grandmother,

who loved country music and all beautiful things.

Her mother’s silver hangs above my lungs and remains steady.

Make me an enticing offer,

perhaps you will see the silver dip forward as I climb into bed.