Dona Josefina has thrown my goat
out onto the calle El Fez–
Ay! The menu of pain is as big
as a queen-sized aha umbrella.
The lolita from the barrio chino licks
the sellos and then my luau–
there is a hint of ajo from Ab-derabad,
with periodos of adages and lapis lazuli.
I have known the fonda of Dona Josefina,
the jetty of her hips, under the veil
of her mild protests where pigs and lox
do mix in a yodel of ah-do-do-dah.
The lolita from the barrio chino is a rider
of net gains and bronze sea snakes–
she holds a baroque club in one hand
and ma of mana from a mouse in the other.
