Saturday morning with nothing to do?
In Santa Fe that ain’t never true.
Just walkin’ to the Plaza will set my mood,
Under Russian olives, past chile ristras, toward Mexican food.
There could be a fiesta with sellers of crafts,
And musicians playing for lovers on the grass.
We’ve got jumpin’ bean races and, sometime, may
Hold a Natural Holistic Cactus’ Rights Day.
Today I wander, wonderin’ about the day’s events,
While bunches of tourists, their money all spent,
Evade day-packers on roller blades, babies, an actor’s wife,
And a long-haired woman, in a flowing dress, wearin’ a sheath knife.
There’s gonna be a parade, I find,
With speechmakers, and dogs, and every kind
Of politician in low-rider cars.
I hope it empties out the La Fonda bar.
Sure enough, there’s plenty of room.
I grab a stool at the end, and soon
I’ve ordered nachos, and downed a Corona.
All I need is love, and I’m lookin’ for a donor.
I look in the mirror, to check my appearance,
In time to catch my fantasy’s entrance:
Bright eyes and smile, and long black hair that
Descends in braids from a fortunate straw hat.
There’s beauty in the mirror and I’m love-lust weak.
I look away as she nears and eyes threaten to meet.
Make her sit here, Lord. I’ll be your best friend.
She sits down beside me: a gift, a Godsend.
She orders tacos, with a Margarita,
And I share my nachos. Her name is Juanita.
She’s home for a visit, on leave from her marriage.
And I’m shaky as Jell-O, tippin’ over my carriage.
We keep on talkin’, about somethin’ or other.
I don’t even hear the music. My brain’s undercover.
She’s Indian and Spanish, a beautiful combination.
I hope my face don’t show desperation.
In comes Jed, a cowboy from the South Platte,
With a few missing teeth and a tailored hat.
A natural salesman, a congenial hustler.
He could’ve sold vacuums to lonely sod busters.
He roots up the stool on ‘Nita’s other side and,
In a matter of minutes, he’s along for the ride.
Her husband’s an Okie; Her home’s in Texas.
Jed says, “No wonder you’re here, drinkin’ with us.”
Lots of booze and brew slosh across the bar.
Pretty soon I’m not even sure where we are.
Juanita gets up, getting’ ready to leave.
I want to stop her, even tug on her sleeve.
She says, “I’ll be back here some other night.”
I watch her go, ever out of my sight.
Jed laughs, “You really fell in love with her!”
I say, “Jed, you an asshole. ‘Morruh, I be sobuh.”
Wobblin’ my way home, sniffin’ flowers, touchin’ trees,
I stop to favor bushes, markin’ territory.
Feelin’ really alive. Problems? Well, a few.
The Corona, and those nachos, are still alive, too.