Jesus on the guard tower watching
Drunken predator-poets on the porch
Saw Eddie lose his teeth the night before
A real three-legged dog night.
Walking Willie stumbles into the corral
Heading to blow up the arsenal
Diablo Woman watches the front gate
Her hands kneading arsenic into bread
Intoxicated, street-walking whore
Feels a bite taken out of her ass
Then gives herself out of love for money
On her way to Canadian Margaritas happy hour.
Bombs exploding in churches and cathedrals
The retired virgin Magdalena shuttles diplomacy
Between El Capitan Morgan and La Flor de Cana
While the Holy Spirit feels up her chalice.
Over the agua de Lago Nicaragua
White caps slap against ship’s bow
All contraband donated to la policia nacionales
To the isle of fucked-up poems and transvestite kisses
Wake up to chickens scratching on the floor
Under the bed, hiding from la senora’s stew pot
Teenaged cock crowing the instant coffee blues
Another day in Cordoba’s paradise.
Walking Willie heads for Taguizapa Beach
Eddie, now steady, with extricated chompers
We head into la brezas down by la playa
Through banana jungles and mango hideouts
Fishing families steal dinner from the sea
Steady Eddie claps to Walking Willie’s ay-yi-yi-yi
While a 50’s squeezebox screeches us tunes
From Old Mexico, Nicaragua and Memphis, Tennessee.
Under the roof of Ometepe’s 800-year old tree
We feel the energy of ancient warrior blood
Spilled upon the soil of the slopes of Concepcion
Weapons, bones, armor and teeth washed away to sea.
Walking Willie moves, or, he stumbles away
“Mas cerveza, senorita. But first I must pee.”
Into the shade he shuffles watering aged roots of our giant tree.
Then a final toast before we depart:
“Slainte y saludo,To the Father, His Son and their Holy Ghosts”.
Baseball players, papas and school girls along
With mamas and babies, curb painters and drunkards
Line the streets to celebrate sixty-nine positions of the cross
And Marys with Jesus, sipping cups of wine, return our salute.
“El Diablo, you say? By now you are his, so watch us depart.”
Mounted on steel steeds we are off to explore
Volcanoes and beaches, pool halls and cantinas
Rocky roads, lava beds, old stables with light bulbs and mattresses
Scorpions and bull frogs under the tropical moonlight.
Three worn out Mounties trying to ride three worn out nags
Made it to pool halls, tranny bars, gay bars, pot farms and beach bars
Banged up, scraped up, dented and bent
Who could tell? Who could see? Which were the wrecks?
The wind blew, the waves crashed. Managua fat cats
Lost their minds to rum, their boat to the volcanic seas.
The Red Planet spied upon Earhlings hiding their sins
In the light of a Blood Moon warmed by Maderas’ fire.
Snoring, farting, belching, talking awake and asleep
Memories, dreams, visions of ex-wives, lost loves
The insanities of regrets, remorse and countless broken hearts
Collided with violence, like molten lava into the surf.
Willie walked free, Eddie laughed steady, Serious held Quiet.
Howling monkeys, crowing cocks, barking dogs and dead fish
Filled our ears and our bellies. Wind in our hair,
sand in our eyes, bugs in our teeth, sun burned our skin.
Sun up. Rosy, wispy dawn. Smoking, gurgling, burping volcano.
Placid lake, gentle breeze on the pirate’s cove.
Fishermen up firstlight; rowing boats, dragging nets.
Breakfast from the waterOur pick from their net.
Still, instant coffee blues.
Walking Willie, Moto-Willie, Jabber Willie, Rummy Willie
Went for a swim in the waters next door to his place
With ten macheteed, ten rock throwing, ten cursing
and one rifled Indian after his hide and satchel of deeds.
The road to Walking Willie’s lakeside farm is rocky and gritty
The land is most beautiful, the lake is most calm
But the people are on fire with lust for his blood
The air riddled with bullets, we make our retreat
William Walker and His Immortals live to fight one more day.
Cerveza in the shade to celebrate our escape
Infatuated, intoxicated, fabricated, decimated, emaciated
Souls moving from beach to valleys to mountains to craters
Excursions into debauchery on motorcycles with Che.
Awaiting us at the dock, Che Guevara’s own ferry
Sailing, rocking, rolling and carrying us back to the
Land of not-so-normal.
Eddie steady with beers and the broads
Willie into the wheelhouse and dons the hat of his
(A poem, by Steven Lindsey, inspired by my recent trip to Ometepe Island, in Lake Niacaragua…with William (Will/Willie) Hape and Gene (Eddie Munster) Price; April 10th-18th, 2014…leaving by ferry from Puerto de Granada and returning to Puerto de San Jorge).