it'll be new from here on out

ZEPATA

Instalment VIII

AT LAST, the reuniting entourage, Zepata, Irena,
Mare and El Dayo and the stowed-away creekets
attained leveler-ground at the base of their
Olympian love aerie
and the vigilant sentries quietly
but strenuously greeted their long-absent
and deeply-loved friends

“Shhhh-shhhhh,” they admonished kindly:
“The muchachos are slipping!”
After a night of finger-shooting
they had finally fallen into restless,
tequila-augmented slumber

But you're nevair too early for us
the sentries pled
Stay a while, pliz!
So they exchanged various peasantries
(For peasants was what they all were)
before Zepata and company
rode on stealthy horse’s hooves

into the bed-roll-covered
fuming mass of unwashed imminent co-
payroll train robbers:
(mucho withdrawals intended without
benefit of any forkeen co-signers!)

Zepata winked at Irena
and at that signal she withdrew her warm
pistolas from their luxuriantly-placed crossed
bandoliers;

then Zepata tossed some crispy tortillas
From his nearest saddlebag
and very sharp-shooter Irena,
unfettered by hair in her eyes,
swiftly shot:

Blam–blam-blam-blam-blam!!!

The compadres were up so
quickly
that they had already fondly touched
the too long-awaited boots and horse-shoes
Before the tortilla chips hit the ground

That was but a sign of the love
that existed among these wrong-righting,
(technically) wrong-doers
and the Federalis should wisely
Stay out their way
Let the robbers say: Amen

They were quick
They were slick
And they meant to kill (not kick)
Some governmental ASS-ic
-sic-

But first, JOY:
Coffee pots were put on the campfire embers
and all guitars and creeket legs came out
a veritable stringed band of burglars
because Zepata in recruiting his
muchachos had a rule:

All derring-doers had to play the guitar
which was getting more and more difficult
to do for some of the finger-shooting
victims/volunteers
but all could at least fumblingly chord along

The seriously impeded,
those with only trigger finger
and rage-expressing digits intact, shook
maracas and were thus not left out

of the gathering madcap fun

The red-bandana’d mariachi creekets
danced and sang
close to the campfire where they were
less apt to get trampled by the
fandango-istas, who were sublimating
their knowledge that soon
great danger would be upon them.

[dd Feb. 14, 2008
Happy Valentines Day]