bad spanish

i talk with 

beautiful Spanish girls

who came up to Baltimore

from the deep sunny

depths

of Colombia, 

they live in dirty houses

they can't keep clean

stacked off in rooms

with big white Men

for whom they cook

the evening meal. 

they talk to me 

in secret moments

their heads hidden somewhere in the

lonely house,

at the break of day at the break of night

they cry for all that went wrong w/ their life. 

i hear old ancient stories about

them and their girls

and the beach

i hear old tales about 

the Colombian sun--

they cry in their Spanish to me

their Spanish that their white man boss

can't understand... 

" i want leave him i want leave,

but i have children the white man feeds, 

i have children the white American feeds...."

i send them stories in bad Spanish

where i imagine making an escape w/ them,

"we rob a bank... i kill somebody with a shotgun... 

we make off with $$320,000 dollars in American cash...

we go back to COlombia...

lay around in Bogota..." 

they cal lme in the morning

crying

weeping

i answer the call, 

and listen.

when it is over,

i eat my oranges and look out the window

and i feel like a 

millionaire.