The Lizards (poem)

The Lizards

It’s one of those nights
when hot-blooded lizards
come out to play—
they lisp for cervezas, muchas gracias
among their friends while bragging
of their recent conquests in bed.

It’s not until the server comes over
and touches my shoulder do I
remember what I want tonight—
my mind is crawling with heat
as I sit in this tavern, dizzy with fever
from the winter chill outside,
bocadillos and napolitanas save me
from having to do small talk with
the locals, still slithering with their beers
and my mother tongue unwilling
to give in.

— The Finicky Cynic

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