Lord Knows How She Loves That Bushy Mustache and Tequilla Breath On a Sweaty, Tijuana night.

the rhinestones
and sequins make him childish,
vulnerable in a dispensing way.
She watches him tap his foot
on the dirt floor as he jams
the strings of his guitar,
fingers groping, stroking
perfectly as an aside.

She insists their eyes met
during the second song-
corazon, corazon, corazon,
to the same three chords,
always the same three chords.
So she stays,exposing
her legs in a less
than subtle way, while
blowing cigarette smoke
into the rattling ceiling fan,
drinking cheap beer,
waiting for him to
finish.