Rumplezoneskin

Zepata Saga

Instalment X

Like the zig-zagging

cactus-ricocheting

Mexican desert winds

Zepata caroms ideas

in his simple but potent mind

Something is afoot

and he senses it

Yet the dominant thought

- he cannot help it -

occupying his Mestizo gray cells

(located as they are so close to his piuitary)

is ignorance of the pending

hanging

danger

out there in the pendulous

gloomy darkness

surrounding the amigos' encampment

Zepata is wrapped in twisted blanketry

with his real and only woman, Irena

The campfires have long consumed

their dry mesquite fuel

and the snoring of the zest-weary hombres

tells a somnolent tale

The time is pre-dawn

The earth turns its inexorable

trajectory

and the moon wanes

as the sun approaches the eastern

horizon

*

Zepata knows

he should be asleep

but his unquenchable animal ferocity

is again aroused

(like trick birthday candles

that you can never blow out;

they just keep coming on again

and again

and again)

- aroused via his left hand

slowly caressing

the buttocks of Irena

"Such a lovely region!"

he muses,

The part of Irena he calls

Rumplezoneskin

Full,

magnificent curvature,

the masseuse of the lucky

leather saddle

Zepata made for her himself

His hand traces her posterial configuration

and he knows by ransomed heart

just what a random harvest awaits him

No whim is denied or unaugmented

by the well-matched Irena

like a hand-sewn holster

who moves this Rumplezoneskin

to grant him wider access

The sentries exchange knowing smiles

as they dutifully stand watch outside

with drawn pistolas

set to do some shooting of their own,

as soon they would.

(Continued)