"Las Girlfriends"
-Sandra Cisneros

Tip the barmaid in tight jeans.
She's my friend.
Been to hell and back and gain.
I've been there too.

Girlfriend, I believe in Gandhi.
But some nights nothing says it
quite precise like a Lone Star
cracked on someone's head.

Last week in this same bar,
kicked a cowboy in the butt
who made a grab for Terry's ass.
How do I explain, it was all

of Texas I was kicking,
and all our asses on the line.

At Tacoland, Cat flamencoing crazy
circles round the pool
player with the furry tongue.
A warparth of sorts for every
wrong ever wronged us.

And Terry here has her own history.
A bar down the stree she can't
go in, and one downtown. Me
a French cafe in Austin
where they don't say--entrez-vous.

Little Rose of San Antone
is the queen bee of kick-nalga.
When you go out with her,
don't wear your good clothes.

But the best story is la Barbara
who runs for the biggest kitchen knife
in the house every bad-ass domestic quarrel.
Points it towards her own heart
like some Aztec priestess gone loca.
�ME MATO!

I tell you, nights like these,
something bubbles from
the tips of our pointy boots
to the top of our coyote yowl.

Y'all wicked mean, a voice at the bar
claims. Naw, not mean. Shit!
Been to hell and back again.
Girl, me too.