Jorge Teaches the Preterit Tense
Saturday night, a pub crawl with a group
of Latin American exchange students.
We stroll along the Savannah River,
cobbled streets, neon flashing
in puddles and dark currents.
Inside Luna Loca I dance techno beat salsa
with Jorge. Guapo, fuerte, de Venezuela.
It doesn’t matter that he wears three gold chains
or leaves his shirt unbuttoned a few too many holes.
A warm arm around my waist, he kisses me.
His tongue tastes like ice cubes, rum and Coke.
Hmm, me gustaba, I tell him. I was liking that.
No, you say me gustó, it pleased me,
and he kisses me again.
***
My prompt is up at Read Write Poem – to pick some words from one subject area to write about another. I started with geographical terms and grammar terms, but discarded all those words except in the title. The other idea behind this poem came from Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides, which suggests that we write an Outsider poem.
Balanced On the Edge 
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