and the cook came out
finished for the night
in his buttoned over black
dusted with tortilla flour
came right to where I sat and
took his cigarette from his mouth
and put it in the hand that held his beer
and like a randy dog and rude
pulled me fingers hard from the oven
into him and put his tongue across my neck
and laughing held me there inside the music
pinned against his thigh
while outside on the street the packs of wild dogs
hungry baying swerve across the road
it’s night
and night belongs to them

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