De Mayo
May, my sister, you tart
the earth, striding it, white fat-
dappled thighs, and all.
No tree like the dogwood: four pink
petals, or champagne
or virgin’s-wedding
eggshell, prop me up.
Conventional magnolias
rot fast. You give
too freely,
at the first drenching
shower, become
an accountant.
Pantyhose! Horrible
humid slip,
clinging, the corporate trappings:
they don’t appreciate
hyacinth ways,
pero las nubes
pleñas de lluvia
me cantan, sin
palabras, sin
vibraciones, except
in my tendons.
The petals must fall, but let
them fall: they display
the wealth of a proud woman,
rings, earrings, necklaces, white
and shameless pink, green
blouse is all my joy.
May, let down your clashing
immigrant hair,
and I’ll take you for beer, May,
O, May, I’ll take you for strawberry wheat beer.
