Southbound (Poem)

Southbound, overnight delivery:
tachycardic transportistas
heed the tachograph.
Computers bound for Cadiz,
jalopeñas to Jaen;
they can wait, brother.
The neon zips past:
the same signs morse out
a mayday call for business.
Funny though, that -
the company of strangers
is more welcome in the bust
than the boom time, hombre.

The oldest profession loosens its belt.

Pull over for an escapade -
you'll keep your pullover on.
Check your wallet for the cash -
be rash - spend the price of a
room on a girl, and get both?

Buy an imitation of a
cocktail, your aperitif
for a fuck-simile of
love.

Don't talk about home, or why
she does what you paid for: don't
you know? You're just another
Juan.