Frederico and his band playing, me and Jashy happy with jazzy stuff like Crakkity Adam’s Apple banging the drums, a waitress called Bonita, and ice cubes. The once in awhile soft glance the two of us share like the low breathy break of Freddy on tenor sax after an electrifying solo. I can be so sloppy with my words! Rhyming wiggle worm with fickle germ… But the band keeps the beat, their music their religion, like the rambling river of the backwoods. “There goes the burrito guy. Catch him!” Darted from my sit-down dance and let the main dance take over, I chased a double-bass colored man with the little styrofoam cooler out the back door of Chapultepec. “Tienes dos chile verdes, hermano?” Later for the Latin number I rose, swaying hips. “Girl, you play in a band?” asked Freddy during set-break. “Just some polyphonic chant at the cathedral on Colfax.” Good things happen after choir practice in the Immaculate Conception Basilica. What I learned from LA was when inserting an acupuncture needle, one should twist it for the pin-point sensation. Really drive home the lesson. Everyone thinks she’s a little cuckoo, but she’s just a jazz line in Gregorian dogma and her trumpet may be a bit out of tune, but I dig alright. Unlike America. A nation in tune with neither her cats nor her catechumens. A tight bitch who can’t hang with either but parades their achievements as her own. When convenient. Her semantics and selective senses weighing her down. She just needs to kick her economics up a tempo, or take it down a key, whatever it is to get the real meaning of the word ‘value;’ based on what she’s said and sung, she’s got a lot of living up to to do. I said to Wenying we ought to diagnose USA, TCM-style. Liberty, er, Liver Qi stagnation. Take it away, Tony!
©2011, Amaya Engleking
Image Credit: Debra Hurd