When it comes to girls the Chihuahua
on Ninth Street going down to
Washington on the left side
below the Hong Kong Fruit,
he knows here he's going, between their
beautiful legs, his eyes
bulge a little, his heart,
because he is small, surges,
explodes too much, he is
erotic, his red tongue
is larger than a squirrel's, but
not too much, nor does he
walk on wire with fresh
ricotta in his mouth nor
an apple they sell for a quarter,
a bit of rot on one side but
sweet underneath the skin, more
Macintosh than not, he
loves Velveeta, he knows
the prices of bananas, he whines
when there is d**h; there was one
drowning in a sewer,
his owner gave me five dollars
for lifting the lid with a hammer
and going down into the muck
when I was twelve, it was
my first act of mercy
and she gave me a towel
that matched the Chihuahua's towel
and ah he trembled containing
s** knowledge and such affection
and licked my face and forced me
to shut my eyes, it was
so much love, his whole
body was shaking and I,
I learned something once from a bird
but I don't know his name
and it is shameful, what
was he, a dog? The Klan
was flourishing all the while
we dreamed of hydroelectric
so we were caught in between
one pole and another and
we were Hegelian or just
Manichean, we kept
the hammer on top of the manhole
so we could lift it to get
our soft balls and tennis balls
though he who weighed a pound
could easily fall into
the opening, such was our life
and such were our lives the last
few years before the war when
there were flour flavors of ice cream
and four flavors only; I'll call him
Fatty; I'll call him Peter;
Jésus, I'll call him, but only
in Spanish, with the "h" sound,
as it is in Mexico;
Jésus, kiss me again,
Jésus, you saved me,
Jésus, I can't forget you;
and what was her name who gave me
the towel? and who was I?
and what is love doing in
a sewer, and how is disgrace
blurred now, or buried?