Sexy Mexican Maid

On my back listening to music

old albums from the mornings of

youth: waking up lean, ready, relaxed, hair in mouth

and touching shoulders

the world out there full of color and blood

the sand and sun and salt water waiting

the bikinis waiting without expectation

the songs of then, like the one this morning,

the careless yet loving caress

of not knowing

the song's intro bringing me back to those mornings

waking up in my rented room on the beach:

California, 18 or 19 years old

wild-eyed and mad with the words, fast, beautiful,

without stress, without care, without bother for anyone

else's opinion, without the need to shield myself

from the eyes and hateful intent

of dicks and cunts

I was unaffected by their drain

and sometimes I still am

but the years put wear on a man's heart

his skin, his mind, his instinct

and without being careful, the past can spill over into the future

but mornings like this come more often as we cut loose the hateful faces,

let the shitty intent of others

roll off our backs

and keep our eyes on the Sun and surf and cities and towns and fields bathed in moonlight

the present spilling out before us

with what is earned

and nothing else

leaking its way to the

future

the center opens

and we

walk on in.