Sunday, November 18, 2012

The Fighter

His name was Lucho. At least that's what I thought it was.
He introduced himself while I sat on a park bench,
cafe con leche in one hand and a cigarette dangling from the other.
He lectured me on the cigarette. I think.

I'd traveled half a world, my baggage unchecked.
I envisioned warmth, and drinks, and perhaps an exotic lover.
The streets were busy, restaurants were full.
Everything about this place, where we'd never been,
made me think of him.

Lucho smiled when he asked for my number
and I smiled when I gave it to him.

2 comments:

charles said...

Who has the upper hand; aka. the uppercut?
Ironically, the party who cares the least.
It is cliche that life is about the journey, not the destination.
Onward, onward

Wojin Kimberly Eric Jack Schmidly said...

love your blog, keep posting.