Corrido de Doña Lucia: Winner #5

Corrido de Doña Lucia

 

with a flip, her long sponge-roller curls shining like licorice

and with a smack of her always lipsticked lips

she flips through the pile, picks, smiles, slowly slips the vinyl from its sleeve

caresses it between her palms, blows for old dust, holds at label,

shines it on her sleeve and sets it with reverence on the turntable platter

in a manner of sacrificial feast to the music beast console Magnavox stereo

whose dropped needle always finds the wax smooth of the right groove

yet crackles from battle scars of so many sunset to sunrise spañada drinking spilling

45 flipping spinning twisting cackling smoking Spaña Saturday nights

you make me dizzy miss lizzy/lookin out my back door

por lo mucho que te quiero/can’t get no/color tv

‘cause dialing for dollars/ picked a fine time to leave me

Lucy knew all the words

but she had to learn them first

tosses her five kids outside, lock the door behind, ‘too nice to be inside,’

pulls out her pad to write and write, memorize, sing it high

try it low, do it again, lower lip pinched white between her teeth,

gently slips pad tip of her thumb under the stylus to lift, go back

slip it into the right groove, verse, sing line for line

etched into her mind and, out the window recorded for all of time in mine

‘cause that Magnavox rocked the entire neighborhood, vecinos, escuela,

plaza, morada, iglesia y convento de la Villa Nueva de la Santa Cruz de la Cañada

but no one, no one ever called the cops when Lucy played, sang or poured her spañada

to sip on Friday nights.  now she pours one for him ‘cause she wants to dance and

she’s got a plan, she sends him out to buy another bottle of wine and

a six pack of cracker jack ‘cause I get two to babysit

but I’d do it for free just to get my hands on the LPs and

that Magnavox console beast where

she racks a stack of 45’s, posts in front of the mirror before he arrives and

in a pink-can aqua net aerosol cloud her beehive comes to life, styling,

false eyelashes, Maybelline, smacking lips garnet red, a ‘buzz-ard’ going in her head,

a knockout, known by all the guys for miles around for her tiny waist and healthy thighs

but she’s got her man and she wants to dance, and all dolled up he don’t stand a chance

and once he’s back, she insists, he’s convinced, he can’t resist

as she holds out her hand to lift him off the sofa, places his hands on her waist and

hers on his hips, bites her lip and steps, one, two, chachacha, guides him

‘cause he’s watching his feet, one, two, chachacha, let’s do it again,

but hon, he rolls his eyes, drops her hand, stomps her toe, throws off her count,

but hon, no, one, two, but hon, okay, so Mashed Potato then,

do the Twist, the Swim, got to Pony like Bony Maronie,

let your backbone slip, do the Watusi, she knows them all, his little Lucy, but

they spin again, meet eye to eye, nose to nose, chin to chin, hip to hip, lip to lip

just in time for Friday night at Red’s steakhouse and lounge.

 

Congratulations to Anna Martinez who wrote the poem above and who just won the last pair of tickets for Urban Verbs! The competition is now officially closed (though I had a couple more entries so they may get tickets too.)

For everyone else, now you can go to Brown Paper Tickets and get yours for a very cheap $12 each in advance. See this great article and interview with Hakim Bellamy that was in the Albuquerque Journal.

Enjoy Urban Verbs, or the SW Shootout, or both. And don’t forget to save some energy to come out to Monday night’s East of Edith Open Mic at 7:00 pm at the Projects 3614 High Street Ne.

 

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