Dialogue in Durango
The idle chat was hardly that,
Since we had as yet no common tongue.
But subtle gestures made it quickly clear
We two had a single purpose,
And only price stood between us.
Mescal lubricated
The long, long slide to bed.
(To sleep, perchance to doze?)
Marijuana heated the blood to boiling.
Money—
Fifty pesos, frivolously flung,
Silently secreted somewhere soft
—Sealed the unspoken pact.
In the sleazy room, a discovery—
We speak the same language after all:
A lingo voice in grunts and cries,
A dialect of mingled sweat,
A communication best expressed
By naked flesh and heaving thighs.
(Of course, I dominated the conversation.)
Then foreigners again
In the sodden stillness after,
Veiled by cannabis smoke.
We sent up separate signals,
Irregular puffs
That rose together
Towards the red
Light bulb beside the ornate
Crucifix above your head.
(It pays to advertise!)
And suddenly, how cold
Your fingers,
Your toes,
The rest of you warm
Like laughter
From a raunchy joke—
Except for your eyes,
Ever distant and dead.