The United States’ President’s plane crossed the border,
Two hours from his meeting with the Mexican President.
The blue-veined, needle dotted, AIDS carrying
Prostitute bit into her taco, sipped tepid coffee
And fingered spilled cilantro.
On one set of knuckles, AMOR,
On the other, ODIO.
Blue-black tattoos running up her hands,
Up her arms,
Colors an ill blue black blend.
She invited me to her room, even though her son would be there.
“Oh, amor y odio, the same, really.”
Five years or so she had before:
The cough, spit, blue, thin would overcome ….
I told her the Presidents would be meeting,
For I had looked up and saw the jet’s white stream in blue.
Some migrant tales from Arkansas,
Some of street life,
And a request for another taco.
I often tell this story around Valentine’s Day.
A park supervisor said:
“She was right, love and hate, one and the same,
Impossible without the other.”
Eugene “Gene” Novogrodsky mid-February 2013