For the Dead
The city, teacher of life's bohemian
aromas, its streets, my catwalk,
the yodeling echoes of men
ready to break the day, my music.
When I leave I'll yield to nothing,
not even the songbird's legato
coming from the mountains
staring at my city.
We met in the Secret Service.
On our first assignment
we were briefed on the case
of the kidnapped shoe.
At lunch Sebastian came over
to talk about life,
the one we see and
the one we live
but never evoke.
He took his shoe off,
demonstrated the kidnapping.
Suddenly, he brushed
my elbow with his finger.
I found myself undressing,
promising him every satisfaction.
All he needed to do was allow me
to care for him for one year.
If his desires were not fulfilled by then
he could be unfaithful with any woman.
I would watch them ignite my bed, humiliated.
Lorna? Sorry Sebastian,
I was picturing the shoe
on wet asphalt.
© Sergio Ortiz
Bio: Ortiz has a B.A. in English literature from Inter-American University, and an M.A. in
philosophy from World University. He is a retired teacher. His poems have been published
or are forthcoming in: Salt River Review, Yellow Medicine, Autumn Sky Poetry, Rust and Moth,
Presence-Haiku, Shamrock, 3LightsGallery, The Smoking Poet, The Journal of Truth and
Consequence, Ganymede, Collective Fallout, Breadcrumb Scabs, Mobius: The Journal of
Social Change, and The Driftwood Review.