Issue 127, Summer 1993
I know this really isn’t Spain. But still,
You’d think I’d find my father here, his lips
On every cup. You’d think the holly bush
Weren’t quite so sharp. I think Rumanian
Is coming from my favorite table in
The back. Are all these people reading Lorca?
My Father never orders flan. I have
Café con leche. I’m in Santander,
Before the war. These people reading Lorca
Suspect that he’s a Communist. You’d think
The Germans at the table in the back
Would carry out their spying more discreetly.
My father hates the Fascists, but more the Communists.