One night,
as I smoked a cigar
in my backyard,
the old lady
from across the street
walked over
with her pitbull
and complained
about the smell.
"You smoke mucho marijuana,"
She said, pointing at my Backwoods.
"It's a cigar," I explained.
"No," she replied, "You stop."
"Listen, your dog barks all night long,
do I complain?"
"You stop," she demanded.
I said, "I stop when he stops.
Whatever his name is."
She replied, "Doe no."
"You don't know his name," I asked.
"Doe no," she repeated.
"Don't know," I asked again.
"Doe no," she said angrily.
"Wait a minute, his name is Don't Know?"
"Doe no," she yelled
as her freaking dog
took a crapzilla
on my lawn.
She gave me the bird
and marched back
to her fortified shack.
After that,
every morning
I'd find a steaming pile
of dog crap in my yard.
One day,
I planted jalapenos
in the enriched soil.
and when the plant was full,
I picked the peppers
and gave them
to the old lady.
She walked across the street
with Don't Know
and brought ice-cold horchata.
We sat in my garden
and talked about
the old country,
and the breeze made circlets
of her hair,
and Don't Know barked
at passersby,
And I smoked
my Backwoods.
It was summer,
and the days were long.
Bees buzzed the honeysuckles,
children played in the fields,
wives giggled like schoolgirls,
old men played cards,
and young men serenaded
their sweethearts.
And we sat in my garden,
by the jalapeno plant,
and drank horchata
and let evening light
wash over us.
