We saw Teotihuacan on our honeymoon
I taught you to call me master in Spanish
Made you keep your panties in your purse during our trip to Walmart
A ninety-nine cent conquistador’s dream
just down the road from where old Cortez envisioned New Spain
The wrinkled men sitting outside drinking Mexican Coke
stared open-mouthed at the length of your pale American thighs
Shapely and muscled under a dress cut shorter than Aztec rule
Even without your heels, you would have been taller than any man in the store
When you plucked a can of hominy down from the top shelf, a teenage boy whispered
“Dios Mio!”
I made you translate when we got back to the resort.
My Rosetta Stone, a window to the world, but it was all Greek to me
Tied to the bed with Sam’s Choice of binding
I offered you to Huitzilopochtli
Your screams for a good season
But no rain fell on the fields of our new country
My conqueror’s seed withered beside the amaranth
Pigweed
A small pox on our houses
But enough
We left the birthplace of the gods as singular as we had come
Two persons, all-inclusive, no refunds, some exclusions may apply
Time ravages every empire, mine was no exception
I returned home not a conquering hero, but a killer of unborn babies
When you set sail from my sovereignty a year later
my dominion was already ancient history
Did you ever birth your nations, I wonder
wriggling and crying into a brave new world?
Or are you still out there
Pale-faced and unclaimed
sacrificing yourself for a thoughtless sun?
Barlow Adams is the author of the novella Appalachian Alchemy (ReadlipsPress), the horror novelette Grimm Reaper (GrinningSkullPress) and an upcoming thriller novel from Smarmy Press. His poetry and fiction have been featured by several publications including Finishing Line Press, Pine Mountain Sand and Gravel, Breath and Shadow, and The Disappointed Housewife. You can find him on Twitter @BarlowAdams
