Would It Kill Me to Be a Nicer Guy?
Insomniac for a high noon
called midnight. Another howling
Coyote ass chorus of disapproval—Malinche
was my Farrah Fawcett poster
masculine taped to my bedroom wall
an imagined papacito
in a big bad brown
den for real.
The gigalo furrowed browed
spittled jowls highlights yellow
an estrangement with my pack
of sancho sinvergüenzas
swimming in lack
for Mommy Malinchismo
But we appreciate over time,
our bellies get full over time.
And these papers overwhelm an archive.
So for a good time call Cortez, a casual encounter.
No strings attached
cuando estoy triste I swipe right.
Copyright © 2020 by Raquel Gutiérrez. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 2, 2020, by the Academy of American Poets.