Summer Fugue

A good friend is a comfy jacket that matches

all your favorite jeans. Or maybe a good friend

is the carport where you park your beat-up VW.

Calloused elbows rough to the touch, the scent

of freshly squeezed lime, love as red and earthy

as beets, the click of the lightbulb switching on,

the first sip of sweet morning joe. I want to listen

to how you touch my hand, to touch your voice

with my fingertips. Like when Judith and I kicked

around UTEP after the campus was closed to cars.

Elbows no longer rough when rubbed with half

a fresh lime. Lime puts me in mind of mojitos

like the tall glasses we drank poolside in Coz.

Dagnabbit, I should have grown spearmint this year!

Because then we could go on a dive trip this winter.

Women think they’re our equals, bwahahahaha,

I heard my brother-in-law say. The established laws of evolution

will take care of him. I’m thinking of the Neanderthals

and the furry or scaled game they once hunted. Judith can

take my BIL out with a quick round-house to the chin,

if we can’t wait for evolution to come save us. ConCon

would be so happy for that. All of this will come true

in six months, like the woolly mammoth who visits twice a year.

Dinosaurs love my mom’s chile con queso most of all.

¿Pero, que podemos hacer? The tostados sit up and take notice.

I see the big one is wearing a comfy-looking jacket

made of maize I pulverized with my hands.