by Judith Terzi
after Raymond Queneau
A lover slips off his cotton tee
and flings it on a llama in the páramo.
Caballos spin past like devotees.
Lariats slap the air in tango code.
The Latin state seduces him like sleaze.
The lover speaks his words fortissimo,
chills out like nudists put on ice to freeze.
Supine or prone he relishes the pose.
He’s heard that Buenos Aires is the spot
to sip yerba maté infused with pot.
From Jujuy to the Pole the gauchos dine
on empanadas stowed in leather totes.
This gringa interprets everything baroque.
My lover wishes he were Argentine.
For many years a high school French teacher in Pasadena, California, Judith Terzi (website) has also taught English at California State University, Los Angeles, and in Algiers, Algeria. Her poetry has received prizes and recognition from numerous journals in addition to nominations for Best of the Net and Web. Recent books include The Road to Oxnard and Sharing Tabouli.