This is an excerpt from my senior thesis, a collection of poetry and prose titled "Manny's Bar." Now, I speak some Spanish, but if you are fluent and there are some obvious problems with word tense/choice, please comment with corrections. Thanks!
Sammy/Sean
Hair slicked back, wife beater
on. He’s a
tough muchacho.
Lived a gangster life in San
Antonio until he was 17, learning Español
from his “friends” in the Eme.
How he got to be here in front
of me is an easy story
about homework not done,
a padre who was never around,
a madre who was
whoring around,
and moldy glasses of milk, used
needles,
dirty plates stacked
between layers of desperation
and a longing to say “Adíos” before his ultimo dormír.
But for now he’s sitting,
smiling
at me over his Crown-and-Sour
no
straw
telling me I’m his preciousá while
my eyes trace the pattern of his
prison tats,
counting teardrops, wondering if
they really mean
what I’ve seen in the movies.
But then the jukebox kicks on
and his eyes light up
like this melody is the key to
his smile.
And the rest of the night we
listen to Santana’s guítar
as he teaches me to ask, “¿Tu
quieres cervesas?”
At closing time he sings me a
song about moonlight,
say’s “Sweet Dreams Mamí” and leaves a tip worthy of a kiss.
But I call him mi amor, and give
him a laugh instead.
He walks out into the oscuro,
taking with him his Cholo swag.
and the drunk redneck who always
lingers after my shout for “Last Call,”
slurs “fucking spic” and it’s
all I can do to not drop
visine in his Bud draft and
scream about fucking ignorant assholes.
My mind goes back to teardrops,
and how the whole world could
choke on them.
The jukebox begins to hum
another drinking song
that turns my anger down with
every verse,
“I’m closing up honey,”
my hands gripping the edge of
the bar, the pressure
from my fingertips repeat back
the melody of my pulse
and, suddenly,
Yo entiendó.
