The Ingenuous Don

Giddap! I'm dog-tired astride a horse
that makes your donkey look sleek.
Come on Sancho! Stop selling those hookey
copies of the latest Harry Potter.

¡Joder! Don't we have dragons to slay?
White, towering giants atop the hills
of Castilla La Mancha?
Wind turbines? Iberdrola?

What tripe you talk Sancho! Indeed
those men are selling dreams: castles
in Spain for the greedy and gullible,
why shouldn't we take their money?

Let's make for Fuengirola, Sancho.
My Rocinante will get there, so can
your damned donkey, my portly friend.
Beaches and ice-cream and pink-fleshed Guiris.

We'll show them Spanish Chivalry and
apartments on the second line:
I'll find Dulcinea on the Paseo Maritimo
and we'll sell Dolce and Gabbana to fools.

And ten leagues away as the horse lollops,
farmers still pick melons and burn dead
olive branches and maybe you and I
are silhouetted on the rise, astride our beasts.