Page 2 - In the Room of Thirsts & Hungers (sample)

A Bullfight, a Revolution, and a Langston

Fondling a gin flask, Hemingway quips “we should live
In the ring, not die on our butts.” The matador executes
Verónica, wiping the brow of a two-ton Christ. Today,
There are no Nationalists, no Loyalists, only Spaniards.

Ernest believes the Negro will have his day. That all
Locked doors shatter their frames when kicked open.
Three barbed flags dive like swimmers into the bull.
All poetry should be that direct, merciless to marrow.

Tercio de Muerte: The beast sways, cattail in a zephyr.
I wonder if he can taste his ancestors’ screams in the air?
We could hollow his horns and trumpet two civil wars:
America to Spain, his sacrifice uniting our struggles.

There’s a devil in the Matador’s patience. Sword
& muleta, the cape: red, not for the bull, but to hide
The blood. Every revolution needs a martyr. Mules
Pull the carcass around the ring like Hector at Troy.

Ernest says muleta and mulatto were meant to sound
Alike. Both carry a man’s hard choices locked in skin.