The sun like a giant dragon spreads
its scaly tail and flies,
as Manuelito swats lazily at a fly shaking him awake
under the shade of the mulberry.

Nadine opens the door to her bar
and shakes her head, saying to Manny
that it's not even noon yet.
She already knows what he'll say: "It's noon someplace."
He moves like the flight of the dragonfly:

hovering and diving,
until he settles on a bar stool in the cool inside.
The shadow of his face floats like broken sunlight.
The day is soft as doeskin, his eyes are morning dew,
his hopes float like a soap bubble.

Earlier, he felt the worms stir under him as he walked,
his death on down the road a bit,
but now he brags he once sank a 50-foot goal
that won the game, and his laughter spills
like whiskey from a shot glass.

The night yawns in an expanse of stars,
the Mexican sky shivers under a coat of clouds
wet with rain and Mannie's tears.
His only love whispers take me home
and he cradles the bottle lovingly.

--Aurelio

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