..

And the relatives   
have long suspected  
we can't anymore  
in white.  

My cousins and I,  
we're all old  
maids at thirty.  

Who won't dress children,  
and never saints--  
though we undress them.  

The aunts,  
they've given up on us.  
No longer nudge--You're next.  

Instead--  
What happened in your childhood?    
What left you all mean teens?    
Who hurt you, honey?  

But we've studied  
marriages too long--  

Aunt Ariadne,  
Tia Vashti,  
Comadre Penelope,  
querida Malintzin,  
Senora Pumpkin Shell--  

lessons that served us well.   
         
             
       
         
            
         
   

Tip the barmaid in tight jeans. 
She's my friend. 
Been to hell and back again. 
I've been there too. 

Girlfriend, I believe in Gandhi. 
But some nights nothing says it 
quite precise like a lone Star 
cracked on someone's head. 

Last week in this same bar, 
kicked a cowboy in the butt 
who made a grab for Terry's ass. 
How do I explain, it was all 
of Texas I was kicking, 
and all our asses on the line. 

At Tacoland, Cat flamencoing crazy 
circles round the pool 
player with the furry tongue. 
A warpath of sorts for every 
wrong ever wronged us. 

And Terry here has her own history, 
A bar down the street she can't