red and ripe as the mouth of a clown
as the loud mouth of her Tio Jose
and juicy as the secrets he used to tell

He'd come to town, she said
sit them all around the table
and after a few, get seamless and sweet
the pulp of his tongue dripping "querida"
after a few more he'd get flush and spineless
or seedy

Sometimes, skin wanting to split
and saucy as a sailor
he'd spill his guts on her father's plate
or curl fingers into palms and like fleshy mallets
his fists would pound out a chorus,
singing sweating cursing, until
bursting from his breast (broken yet beating)
un corazon sangrante
thrust a salsa picosa into all of thier soup
so much GARBAGE on the TELEVISION (reverse it)