Fablespinners: Literature's Online Open Mic!

Sylvan orchid -- cut,
Admired briefly,
Then carelessly
Tossed away.

by Marie Delgado Travis

Blood
flows, flows
through the street,
into the air,
across the river,
over the meadow.
It flows
on the balcony,
under the door,
down the corridor,
between the sheets,
against the wall,
detonating in
our hands.

by Marie Delgado Travis

All these years.
All these tears.

And still...

My face flushes,
Knees weaken.

But even as
I gasp
Frantically
For breath
at the
thought
of you,

I can't help
But recall

How you
Treated me.

And wonder ...

"Why?"

by Marie Delgado Travis

I am raining
As the city soak
Distances shrink
From view.

Pearls
At 35,000 feet.
Engulfed now in
Cloud layers.

I rain.

###

"Believe it or not you can read this:

I cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd
waht I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the
hmuan mnid. Aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde
Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer inwaht oredr the
ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit
pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can
sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the
huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but
the wrod as a wlohe. Amzanig huh? yaeh and I awlyas
thought slpeling was ipmorantt."

Guapo y Aislado attempted a painfilled heroic vault over the stall rails.
Somehow his forelegs made it over, but not his hindquarters. He landed on the top rail with a resounding thump!

The thump though compressed the gas in his belly to a degree no longer containable. The discharge of noxious vapor turned the candleflicker into a methane-fed blowtorch flame.

The bomberos arrived quickly so they were able to save most of the sanctuary structure next to the garage.

The humans and the completely restored Guapo y Aislado had safely escaped the inferno. They stood on the sidelines watching the mop up operations. Don Pedro silently wept at the prospect that he had saved his burro from the flames in time for the cremation.

"Tell me, did the Eunuch's Disease cause Hipocondrio much pain in the end?"

"No! Don Pedro, you poor dear. Hipocondrio didn't have Eunuch's Disease at all. Apparently, all the animals, just like Guapo y Aislado, who ate the soybean sheathed carrots got allergic gaseous colic. The government, tonight, in an emergency measure, has banned its' further use."

"But gas doesn't kill. Why did Hipocondrio die?"

"Dr. Enferma told me that he was wearing a rubber glove that covered his entire sleeve up to his shoulder. He had only reached in up to his elbow to straighten out Hipocondrio's intestines to relieve the pressure, when Hipocondrio deciding that he had had enough treatment, bolted out of the hospital and on to the highway."

"But then why did he die?"

"Oh, Jefe Tienda's father-in-law was driving a truck and ran him over!"

by Marie Delgado Travis

I was very privileged to attend CCNY in the late 60's. It had been my choice, not only because there was no tuition at the time, but also because my professors and the learning environment at the college were world class.

But times were turbulent. Almost any day, you could count on some of the 30,000 students to be protesting something. There was a student strike for every occasion: to prevent the cutting of one of the last few trees on campus, to protest the war in Viet Nam, to promote the adoption of Open Admissions. This latter issue involved waiving the usual requirements for admissions for underprivileged minority students.

As an underprivileged minority student who had not asked for any special privileges to be admitted -- I had simply worked my butt off -- frankly, all I wanted to do was graduate, "selfish" as that may seem. So, despite the constant strikes, I tried to attend as many classes as I could. I once literally had to jump over a friend who was stretched in front of the classroom door in protest, "Oops! Sorry!"

The violence began to mount on the sensitive issue of Open Admissions. On a couple of occasions, sulfur bombs were thrown into our classroom through the window. Our professor would refuse to let us leave the classroom. "I'm from Argentina, and we know about revolution," she said. "We won't let them intimidate us." So we covered our faces with our hands and hankies and continued our sessions as best we could.

Perhaps the cruelest irony was when a brick was thrown into the classroom, fracturing the skull of a Puerto Rican Viet Nam veteran. I was horrified, because I knew the sacrifice that studying entailed for him. He came to class directly after working all night as a security guard. I'd sometimes have to gently nudge him, so he wouldn't fall asleep in class, he was so tired. So much for the rights of the minorities.

One day I found myself reluctantly participating in a counter-demonstration to reopen the school after an especially tedious "Open Admissions" strike. The ongoing nature of the strike jeopardized graduation prospects for many of us. One protester on the other side of the issue was my Puerto Rican childhood friend, Patsy. To see her beautiful green eyes staring at me across a wire fence that separated protesters and counter-protesters was one of the saddest experiences of my life. I was so sorry that we had grown so distant.

Hundreds of us marched from North to South Campus, chanting "Open the school! Enough is enough!" When we reached the South Campus wall, I saw a number of thugs scaling and jumping over the college fence with baseball bats and golf clubs in hand. As they landed, they began to beat students in the front lines of the protest, mercilessly. I could hear the cracking of bones and skulls and saw dust and blood flying. It was as if everything were playing before me in slow motion. I was paralyzed. I could see the attackers advancing towards me, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn't move.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, I felt a hand grab mine and we were running. It was some time later that I heard a voice say sharply, "You told me you me lived around here. Where exactly do you live?!" It was then that I came to and realized what had happened. One of the Viet Nam veterans I tutored had seen the danger I was in and rescued me, taking me away in his car, which was parked off-campus. He drove me as far as he could, not knowing my address, only the general area of the Bronx where I lived.

I never saw my angel after graduation and I feel ashamed because, although I clearly remember his face and his incredible kindness to me, I don't recall his name. I wish with all of my heart that I could evoke it, because I've often felt a longing to thank him for saving me.

I recently received a mailing from my alma mater that the "Open Admissions" experiment, adopted in the early 70's, has been abandoned and the school is trying to regain its past glory. I hope that those who completed the program realize that their success was built on blood and tears and that they will find it in their hearts to give back to the community. And to those who didn't make it through the program, take it from me ... it's never too late to work hard to achieve your goals.

A poem could I start,
That somehow would circle
And fill up,
The hole, your absence
Has left in my heart.

It would be filled,
I'm sure it's true,
With smiles and tears
Formed by the miles
Between me and you.

The tears come when I fear
Memory of you might fade to blue.
The smiles return when
Memory reminds
That in my soul
I still love you.


sonichi shanti 050623

"'It was extremely kind of you to drive me all the way to Sacre Merde! so that I could deliver this special handling document, Hermano Santuron.'

'Think nothing of it. Praise Gaw-D. It is written, 'whatsoever you do for the least of mine, know that you do for Me.' Thankya Jee-zus!'

'Muchas gracias, I'm sure. Look, there's the address 2101 Calle Casucha. Stop here. I'll only be a minute.'

Don Pedro hopped from the van, special handling document in hand. He glanced at his watch, pleased that it being only 5:07 P.M. there would still be plenty of daylight when
he returned to the ailing Guapo y Aislado.

He rapped on the door with a knock that said THIS IS OFFICIAL GOVERNMENT BUSINESS. After a long pause and three more official rappings, an aged woman in a shawl cautiously opened the portal.

'Are you, Senor Estafaro? I have a special handling required, Federales Express catalogue for you. I need your signature here, please.'

'You mule! Do I look like a Senor anybody to you. Senor Estafaro was evicted last month for non-payment of rent. He lives in Veralento now.

During the hour Don Pedro and Hermano Santuron spent together driving back to the sanctuary, Don Pedro decided that although his companion had an odd pattern of speech, he was really quite interesting to listen to over a broad range of subjects.

It was quite dark when they finally got to the ad hoc stall of Guapo y Aislado, such that,Hermana Gazmona had to light a candle to guide the way there. In the flickering candlelight Don Pedro perceived that Hermana Gazmona's eyes were red and puffy.

'Have you been crying, Hermana Gazmona?'

'It's true. I have. I don't know how to tell you this, but I spoke to Doctor Enferma . . . Don Pedro, the horse we knew as Hipocondrio is dead.'

'Ay Dios Mio! Madre del Dio" Not Eunuch's Disease. Not my poor Senor Aislado!"

Overwhelmed, Don Pedro collapsed to his knees. The siblings rushed to console him in an embrace. However, before another word could be spoken, Guapo y Aislado, who had heard and understood all, reacted.

As he saw it, this had been the worse, and most likely the last, day of his life. He stood wracked with pain, his friend from childhood dead and called a sharer with mules, his closest buddy, who he'd just seen in his agonal moments that very afternoon, now dead, and finally, he, himself, with the same symptoms, watching the final grains of sand fall through the hourglass of his life. It was too much. If he must die, then die he would in freedom!


To Be Continued . . .

Dawn, as crowed by Kri-Kri, the dyslexic cock, awoke Guapo y Aislado, when the sun was directly above the highest steeple of the modest church at the north side of the town square. Guapo y Aislado completed his arising grooming activities and chores. Primary of which consisted of swatting away swarms of biting black flies and increasing the fertilizer destined for Don Pedro's garden.

Completing his procedures, Guapo y Aislado ambled over to the corn crib. He had a vague rumbling in his tummy that was getting more noticeable. "Maybe I'm hungry."

Barely had he time to peck a bushel of sweet corn cobs, when Don Pedro burst into the stable opening. "Pronto! Senor Aislado", commanded he, "I'm required to deliver this special handling document without delay! Prepare yourself for a grueling afternoon for we must travel all the way to Sacre Merde!

Don Pedro certainly acted as if he were at gun-point. He didn't lead Guapo y Aislado to the carretilla but instead began to cinch on the worn saddle with but one stirrup, and that on the wrong side.

This puzzled Guapo y Aislado. He was sure today was the the day of the two suns during which he had nothing more to do than eat and sleep; between which he often got special water from Don Pedro. He remembered distinctly that yesterday was the time when Don Pedro delivered the window-front envelopes with the green paper inside. Always that meant that a day with the sun rising and falling twice would occur before he would again have to pull the carretilla.

Whenever, he was puzzled, Guapo y Aislado, would do what any smart ass would do - sit down awaiting further information. So he did, onto the foot of Don Pedro.

"Ai-yee!, you fat ass, get off of my foot!", Don Pedro screamed, "We must hurry. Nothing must delay the delivery of this document to Sacre Merde!

Guapo y Aislado shifted his weight sufficiently for Don Pedro to regain feeling in, and use of, his foot. Don Pedro grabbed at Guapo y Aislado's carrot bedecked headdress, affixing it to his poll.

Guapo y Aislado stood up.

Leapfrogging into the saddle, Don Pedro aboard Guapo y Aislado cantered away.

At a fast clip, the town of Sacre Merde! - the exclamation point's a part of the town name - was half-an-hour away. Incidentally, Sacre Merde! has an interesting history. Town records state that a Viceroy was traveling across the plain where the town now sits, when word reached him that his sovereign, Napoleon, had been defeated at Waterloo. Confused and puzzled by the revelation, he and his entourage, sat down to await further information. It was during their futile wait that a town developed around them. The town's name is a direct quotation of the Viceroy's first exclamation upon hearing the dire news.

"Madre del Dios! We certainly don't need a traffic jam when we must deliver without delay, despite the peril, this special handling document."

But traffic jam they did hit, or rather, one of Jefe Tienda's pickup trucks had hit a maverick, who like a rock, had held her ground, and now ground, she laid upon it.

The police investigation had not yet determined the ownership of the cow, nor the liability, so the smashed truck and the ancient VW bus behind it blocked Don Pedro's progress.

To his disgust, Don Pedro, could see that the driver of the truck, now in animated conversation with the investigating patrol officer, was the father-in-law of Jefe Tienda. "That man should have had his license pulled years ago.", he muttered.

It was true. Even Jefe Tienda would agree that his father-in-law should have stopped driving early in his seventies, many years ago. After all, he was mostly deaf, walked with halting steps, was unable to see well with one eye and blind in the other, but driving made him feel still part of life, still productive.

There had been a few weeks that Jefe Tienda had taken away his car's keys but Jefe's father-in-law became morose as a result.

When he was unhappy, his daughter was unhappy. When his daughter was unhappy, she wore her long, orange flannel nightgown to bed, after she put on her purple face mask cream and before she went right to sleep, usually with a headache.

Don Pedro could not stand to see his father-in-law unhappy so he donated large sums to the policemen's benevolent association fund. The sergeants, in turn, insured that the officers on patrol kept a protective blind-eye on his father-in-law's driving skills.

"Sister, it appears, praise Gaw-d, that we are delayed in traffic, praise Gaw-d, due to the unfortunate demise of one of our Lord's dumb brutes, merciful Jee-zus.

'Why don't we, sister, offer a prayer of thanksgiving, amen, that it was not our vehicle which struck the brute. Thankya Jee-zus!"

A dark-robed man alighted from the VW bus, speaking thusly, to his equally severely garbed companion.

"Amen, brother. Praise God, it was not us which bore the chariot to bring our animal sister back home. Thank-you, Jesus!

'Brother, let us prepare the afternoon repast, praise God, as we await the Lord to move among us to clear the road ahead. Amen!"

"Those people sure talk funny, Senor Aislado, but the woman, now, she's a hottie!"

And so she was. Despite a black dress extending from her neck to her ankles and down to her wrists, the crisp white apron so tightly cinched about her thin waist betrayed a tight athletic body supporting ripe firm breasts. Don Pedro's imagination drifted into lascivious thoughts of how he would feel to embrace such a body and have it, in return, embrace him. He turned to her and said, "Hey! You can't camp here. Move that car. I have a special handling document to deliver all the way to Sacre Merde!"

"Praise the Lord, brother." he said.

"Sacre Merde! Relax, bro, that's half-an-hour away.", she said.

They both approached.

"Praise the Lord, brother. I'm Hermano Santuron and this is my sister, Hermana Gazmona La Monja. We're missionaries with Pueblos Estan Preparando Para Resucitacion Eterno. Are you familiar with our movement?"

"I don't think so.", Don Pedro said thoughtfully. "I am Don Pedro Grande Entre Las Sabanas, postmaster general of Veralento, and this is my faithful steed and companion, Guapo y Aislado.

'I must ask you to move your car for nothing must delay the delivery of this special handling document to
Sacre Merde!"

"But brother, praise Gaw-D, no one can proceed until the authorities, thankya Jee-zus, moves that poor creature's remains, amen, from the roadway.", said Hermano Santuron.

"Won't you join us in a meal as we wait", added Hermana Gazmona. "Wouldn't you feel more comfortable, anyway, relieving your mount from the oppressive weight of humanity?" continued the pious Hermana, revealing a smile whose brilliance rivaled the sun such that Don Pedro was totally blinded that he should have felt insulted.
He was undeniably smitten. "Your animal seems so uncomfortable."

"Well, I suppose I could pause for a moment. Afterall, Sacre Merde! is only half-an-hour away and my animal is becoming increasingly more uncomfortable!" He dismounted on the good stirrup side. Guapo y Aislado nervously stepped side-ways to the left. Don Pedro almost tumbled onto to his own soft hindquarters but regained his balance and planted ungracefully.

Don Pedro helped the two missionaries spread a picnic blanket on the ground.

Guapo y Aislado appreciated the result of the dismount. Although Don Pedro was not as large as the alcalde, the relief from his weight, after the grueling journey to the edge of town, made Guapo y Aislado no longer feel like Atlas.

Hermana Gazmona began selecting small containers from the van.

"I couldn't help noticing", she said in Don Pedro's direction, "the beautiful headgear decorated with a carrot that your horse is wearing. Are you vegans?"

"No", replied Don Pedro, "both I and Senor Aislado, as I call him, were both born and raised here in the Aldehuela Aburrido Valley. By the way, he's not a horse. He's a jackass."

"Nonetheless, he seems very cute to me"

"What group did you say you're with?"

"Pueblos Estan Preparando Para Resucitacion Eterno, praise Gaw - D, and as such we're vegetarians and advocates of animal civil rights, Thankya, Jee-zus. Especially, male equine liberation, praise Gaw-D!"

"Perhaps, you know our group as PEPPRE's or by our famous motto, "We don't do that!"

"Why yes, I've heard of PEPPERs", smiled Don Pedro, nodding his head for emphasis. He, of course, had never heard of the group but felt it would be disrespectful to say so in the presence of such a genteel woman.

"We've got too much food.", Hermana Gazmona began opening various containers. "There's candied carrots, carrots with raisins salad, carrot soup and for desert, carrot cake. Help yourself."

"Oh, we're not that hungry. We recently ate."

Guapo y Aislado couldn't believe his ears. Here, Pegasus, had laid a feast for the gods before him and his master was showing off before some filly with false politeness. Furthermore, he couldn't believe his own stomach which was churning and rumbling more consistently.

"Can it be that I'm not so hungry? I had a good portion of jicama last night and a fair heaping of corncobs this morning, I think."

Guapo y Aislado shifted his weight from one hoof to another, to another, to another, hoping that the discomfort in his middle would abate.

"Are you familiar then with our magazine, 'Observation Post'?" Hermana Gazmona interjected, as she pulled a crudely printed on rough recycled paper document from a pocket of her apron.

"Read it all the time along my delivery route. Many residents of the valley are PEPPERs."

"I didn't know that, although everyone I know are PEPPRE's. Under the guidance of our bishop, Bishop
Mojigato El Monje, ours is the highest income crusade in the country. If I may be so bold as to ask, would you like to be a PEPPRE too?"

"Quizas, manana, but not today. I'd need more information first."

"Praise Gaw-D, then you're in luck. It just so happens, thankya Jee-zus! that we are on our way to a Praise Meeting at our sanctuary and storefront chapel next to the Cathedral, sweet Jee-zus, just five minutes from here, great Gaw-D almighty. You're invited, Amen."

"Oh, I couldn't do that today. I must hurry to Sacre Merde! with a special handling document. Nothing must delay me further."

"Please, please, reconsider.", said Hermana Gazmona, flashing her smile, "it gives me the greatest pleasure to bring a lamb to the Shepherd." She punctuated her request with a laying of hands on Don Pedro's knees directly opposite her where he sat cross-legged.

Don Pedro felt his face flush warm. "She's got her work cut out for her", he mused, "this is cattle country. There's no sheep for fifty kilometers." He also felt himself stiffening, then blushed more, embarrassed that Hermana Gazmona might notice.

"Brother, if not for yourself. Come with us, just five minutes down the road, to rest and water that poor jackass. See how uncomfortable he looks."

Guapo y Aislado was pacing dysphorically and breathing noisily.

"You're quite persuasive but it would take a miracle for us to get through this traffic jam in time or me to visit your chapel and still deliver this special handling document."

Somewhere high above, the wind blew a leafy tree branch aside permitting a shaft of golden light to fall upon Hermana Gazmona's upturned face. Then from above, there spake a voice as if thunder:

"You folks are free to pass now. We've cleared one lane for you to move around the accident." It was the voice of one of the patrol officers standing behind the seated trio.

"Blessed is the name of the Lawd. Amen. You see. Praise Gaw-D. the Lawd caused us to meet. Amen. So that you could join our Praise Meeting. Thankya Jee-us."

"I've a suggestion. You ride with us in the van and we'll tether your ass to the rear bumper. That will save time and liberate you mule."

"He's still a jackass, not a mule.", Don Pedro said with a little indignance. His demeanor quickly softened in the warmth of Hermana Gazmona' smile.

"O.K., but only for five minutes. Nothing further must delay the delivery of this special handling document."

"Now drive slowly, brother. We have an honored guest on our tail.

Hermano Santuron fired up the van, then drove away slowly in first gear only. "It's just five minutes away."

As they passed the spot of carnage, the deceased cow lay uncontentedly sprawled across the center traffic line, the father-in-law of Jefe Tienda and five or six patrol officers were laughing amongst themselves over some ribald joke. Tears welled and overflowed Hermana Gazmona's eyes. "Quickly, brother, let's get out of this painful place."

Slow, even for an ancient VW bus, is a fairly quick, not to mention sustained, gallop for a small burro's legs. Guapo y Aislado got several years' exercise during the next five minutes.

"Thank Pegasus we're finally stopping.", he brayed, as the van came to a halt in front of a storefront just to the left side of the town cathedral.

The cathedral, massive, austere, sat in sacred silence, as its' granite facing had done for centuries.

The storefront exploded with the raucous sounds of snare drum and horns, punctuated with syncopated organ riffs that increased the rate the paint peeled off its' fading facade. Over the din of music could be heard the clapping of hands, screams, moans, "Preach Brother"s and "thankya Jee-zus"s.

The sanctuary affiche said, "The Greater Apostolic Unyielding Sanctuary of Peace and Love"

Today's sermon was listed as:

"Desire Is Enlightenment"

Between the cathedral and the sanctuary an open area served as a parking lot-cum-corral. After Hermano
Santuron parked the van on one side, Don Pedro parked Guapo y Aislado, on the other, with the other transport beasts.

As the human trio entered the sanctuary door, the congregation began singing the the keynote hymn:

With the high praises of God
In our mouths
And a two-fisted sword
In our hand
We will fight for the right
In a victory march
To that good 'ole Promise Land.

The corral, it seems, was no more devoid of moral guidance than the sanctuary. Esclavo, the chattel of the Bishop was de facto head of the congregation of beasts.

Esclavo, a noble ebony colored thoroughbred horse, had distinguished himself as the first of his breed to be ridden by a bishop. Sure, through the years, there had been many a Snowflake or Ivory ridden by countless bishops, but not until Bishop Mojigato El Monje had inspired the equine liberation civil rights movement had a bishop actually had his butt cash the check his mouth had written by actually riding a dark-colored horse.

Esclavo instinctively realized that his spotlight position made his every action decisive in swaying public opinion about those of his breed. In all ways, he ran counter to stereotype. When others expected him to be lazy, he was indefatigable. When others expected him to be ignorant, he could paw the ground on command the numbers one through four. When others expected him to be weak, he could prance like a colt, with the generous weight of the Bishop, plus his saddlebags brimming with Bibles on his back. But most of all, when others expected him to be inarticulate, he could whinny with the best orators equine-dom had ever produced.

So it was on this afternoon, he had already whipped his audience into a frenzy of brays and whinnies, with his melodious measured cadences. Never one to rest on his rose-blanket, he could speak the argot of the most common draft animal or soar to the eloquence of the Queen's-own-Cavalry, if necessary. On this afternoon, his sermon topic was, "The pursuit of carrots is death!"

. . . wuz not? . . . ar departed brother . . . He Sido Ya Hecholo . . a notorious seeker of carrots? . . . and wuz not? . . ar brother-in-demise . . . brought low by the Scourge of Pegasus . . Eunuch's Disease? . . . CanIgetta witness?"

There was much braying in assent. Guapo y Aislado reared up in anguish. First, he was devastated with the news that his pal from colt-hood, He Sido Ya Hecholo was dead.

True, they hadn't crossed bridle paths in years, but Guapo y Aislado still felt a kinship. Simultaneously, though, he was seized by an abdominal cramp that almost caused him to soil his tail. As Guapo y Aislado turned to leave, he muttered, "This is crap!"

"No, it's not! Here wipe your nose. It's running." It was the soft neigh of a mare standing next to Guapo y Aislado.

"I didn't know about He Sido Ya Hecholo. The last time I saw him was years ago, when he won the third race at Course de Chevaux. What's your name?"

"Jenny. Jenny Hinny. What's yours?"

"Guapo y Aislado."

"What a melancholy name. Do you not often attend services?"

"Can't say that I do. There's not much message here for me-e-e-e!" Guapo y Aislado reared again as another cramp held him in a vice-grip.

"I think Pegasus is sending you a message, brother. You would be wise to listen closer to Brother Esclavo. You look like a guy whose been chasing carrots recently."

"Well, sure, I'm a normal burro, I was chasing a carrot just this afternoon, but I haven't actually eaten a carrot since last night and that was a protected sheathed carrot."

"It doesn't matter. Brother Esclavo says all carrots are evil temptations. Masters only give us carrots to do things unnatural to an equine. That's how He Sido Ya Hecholo got sick."

"How's that?"

"Well, how many equines do you know that naturally tie themselves to three times their weight, then drag the weight up a hill? Masters give us carrots to do that all the time.

'Or how many wild equines constantly run around in circles? He Sido Ya Hecholo did that for years. He kicked mud and dust into the faces of his brother horses many times and was rewarded by his master with more carrots than he could consume. It's said that he shared them with a mule - and you know what that means.", she said dropping her tone to a hoarse whisper.

"I refuse to believe it. He Sido Ya Hecholo was a friend of mine as a colt. He never gave a hint he would share anything with a mule!"

"Well he died of Eunuch's Disease. You do the math."

This was too much to bear - death, attacks on carrot-crunching and his friend accused of sharing with a mule. Guapo y Aislado turned his rump to Sister Hinny.

"Say, Guapo y Aislado, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation about He Sido Ya Hecholo. I agree with you as always." It was the voice of Hipocondrio, a young stallion who lived in Veralento. He and Guapo y Aislado had together gone on many carrot hunting forays. Inevitably, Hipocondrio, probably because of his regal bearing and cream-colored coat persuaded far more passers-by to give him a carrot nibble than did Guapo y Aislado. Also, inevitably, Hipocondrio would conclude their searches complaining of stomach pains from eating too many carrots and Guapo y Aislado would complain of hunger pains because his stomach was too frequently seduced by the prospect of a carrot without the satisfaction of his appetite being sated.

"What are you doing here?" Guapo y Aislado inquired.

"It wasn't my idea. My master's wife likes that people barn over there, so she made him come with her, and he made me carry him. I see you've met the bearer of my mistress, Jenny Hinny. She's a trip isn't she?"

"Well she is somewhat fanatical, but a cute filly I wouldn't mind taking a trip with." Guapo y Aislado replied with a twinkle in his eye.

"So how's it hanging, Guapo? Eaten any carrots recently?"

"Just last night, in fact. I had some of those sheath protected bunches. No taste that was good whatever."

"I know what you mean. My master dumped a bunch in my stall last night. I got so excited I thought my eyes would pop out. So I ate it; now, I hate it.

'It gave me the worse stomach ache I've ever had .. Still feeling kinda queasy .. In fact, may Pegasus strike me dead before I ever have another sheathed carrot!"

"You should be careful of what you wish for.", chimed in Jenny.

"For the equine proposes, but Pegasus disposes", Reverend Esclavo had just admonished his flock when from inside the Bishop's voice rang out, "Who here has been slain in the Spirit and Warshed in the Blood?"

Apparently, Hermana Gazmona had because she let out a blood-curdling scream, uttered a string of unintelligible sounds and fell to the floor in a faint.

Such a clear sign of the Lord moving among them got the choir to shout a litany of "He's alright"s at the top of their lungs; the Bishop commenced a hop, jump, spinning dance, and all, save a bug-eyed, and frankly panic-stricken, Don Pedro, to commence weeping, groaning, shouting and spinning.

How long that would have gone on, only the Lord knows. It certainly would have lasted longer had the bochinche of the sanctuary congregation not been drowned out by a stampede of noisy braying, neighing and whinnying, such as had never been heard in these parts before.

It seems, Pegasus had been moving among the corral. He disposed to smite simultaneously Hipocondrio
and Guapo y Aislado with gut wrenching cramps. The result, thereof, was that both reared to their hind legs together and crumpled Hipocondrio onto his side, while Guapo y Aislado stood upright but rocked back and forth with distended abdominal agony.

It should be no surprise then, all this commotion inspired Reverend Esclavo to gallop in circles around the stricken pair neighing loudly, "I command the unclean spirits leave our brethren and our corral, in the name of Our Savior, Pegasus, Amen."

Wholly spooked by these goings on, the rest of the corral fell to chaotic galloping about, whinnying and braying.

The sanctuary inhabitants cleared their hall to see the cause of the riot outside.

"I think I'm done for this time, Guapo."

"Nonsense.", said Guapo y Aislado through gritted teeth, "I'm in pain, too. But, I think it will pass for both of us. We've both had belly aches before."

Jenny raced to the side of Esclavo.

"Reverend could you lead us in a prayer?"

Esclavo exhaled a single long almost donkey-like exclamation and all the animals in the corral stood still and bowed their heads.

The humans, Don Pedro and the master of Hipocondrio, in particular were horrified to see the horse laying on the ground on its' side and the burro rocking and braying in pain, both with hugely distended abdomens.

Someone shouted, "Somebody call a vet. Get Doc Enferma out here."

"A vet. Oh Guapo! Oh Aislado! How am I suppose to afford a vet after spending all my extra money on the protected and inspected carrots? Ay Dios Mio! How am I going to deliver the special handling document?"

A revived Hermana Gazmona was at Don Pedro's side. "Listen, Don Pedro, Dr. Enferma is my mother's uncle. I'll speak to him about your jenny. As for the special handling document you must deliver, I'll have Hermano Santuron drive you to Sacre Merde! in the van while I assist Dr. Enferma here."

So moved was Don Pedro at the offer he didn't correct her error. "Muchas gracias, sister, you're too kind. I'll take up your offer for the ride. Nothing further must be allowed to delay my special handling document's delivery. Thank God, Sacre Merde! is only half-an-hour away."

As luck, the Lord, or Pegasus, would have it Dr. M. E. Enferma was passing the sanctuary heading back to his emergency animal hospital in the large camion used as an animal ambulance. He was carrying the remains of the recently departed vaca to the local carniceria so that it could be properly recycled.

Somebody flagged him down and told him of the situation in the corral. "I don't think I have room for two more patients in the ambulance.", he fretted.

After Hermana Gazmona told him of Don Pedro's financial bind, he proposed a solution.

"As I see it, both these animals have the same problem. I have room to transport but one. Therefore, I'll take the horse, make my diagnosis, then you, Senor Don Pedro, can apply the same cure to your burro. Yes?"

"A brilliant solution, Senor Doctor. By the time I return from the delivery of my special handling document, you'll be able to tell me how to cure my Senor Aislado."

So it was done. After all held hands to pray for the speedy recovery of the afflicted and anointed prayer cloths were purchased and draped over each animal, Hipocondrio was packed into the ambulance and a makeshift stall was constructed in a nearby garage for Guapo y Aislado.

To be continued.

by ROBERT MC KENNA



I guess you can tell from my name that I am not a Latino by birth. I was born into an Irish Catholic family in the South Bronx of N.Y. in 1949. Growing up in the South Bronx and living in the police district called “Fort Apache” was quite an experience because as you will see, I was the minority.

All my friends were Latinos. Most of them were Puerto Rican, but I also had friends from the Dominican Republic, Cuba, Mexico and Peru. I do not use the term “friends” lightly. They were more than friends. They were my companions in good times and bad, my teachers, my tormentors, my protectors, and my family as well.

I took more than my share of beatings from the Latinos but the truth is that I received beatings more often and more severe from the Irish kids who lived just outside my neighborhood. Why? For the simple reason that I hung out with and played with and lived with Latinos.

Regrets? I have none. Those were the best times of my life. I had friends then that I wish I had now. I did not realize it then but I would never have friends of that quality ever again in my life. When someone bothered them I fought for them and they in turn would fight for me when needed.

I was the only non-Latino in the entire neighborhood. As such, I was the minority. I lived in a world where I could not understand the language, I did not fully understand the music, and I did not know the values. In the 60’s, I came to be known as “The Longhair” and everyone knew me.

Eventually, I learned enough of the language to get along fairly well. Some would say I learned the language too well as I could curse and swear with the best of them. I came to like the music and Tito Puente and Cal Tjader were as much a favorite of mine and my friends were introduced to The Beatles and The Beach Boys. More importantly, I came to understand their values regarding family, friends, worship and hard work.

I was invited to dinner at their homes and they at mine. I came to like cuchifritos and pasteles and they came to like Corned Beef & Cabbage and Irish stew. Their families accepted me in their house and vice versa. We all lived in cramped apartments so sleepovers were impossible but on hot steamy nights it would not be unusual for my friends and I to put a blanket on the metal “fire escape” adorning each apartment building and sleep outside all night. It was kind of like camping, city style. We could speak to each other as we all lived in the same building so the fire escapes were our little world. We could run up and down with sodas and snacks and even watch TV from the outside looking in. For those of you who never slept outside on a fire escape you missed a wonderful experience.

Sometimes they went with me to St. Jerome’s church and sometimes I would go with them to Iglesias De Dio. They thought my churches hymns were cool and we used the missal for the Mass as a kind of code breaker for a secret language and made believe we were spies sitting in on a secret ritual. I thought their music at the storefront glossies replete with tambourines and guitars was way cooler. We used to dance and sing along both inside the glossies and outside.



We all worked in the neighborhood although at different stores. I worked for a Jewish family in the only real Haberdashery in the shopping district. My ability to speak enough Spanish to help the local’s buys fine clothing made me invaluable to the owners. The Latinos that I knew were hard working people. They had not only the usual jobs of bus drivers, policeman and fireman, construction, etc. but they also ran the first 7-11’s in the U.S. called Bodegas. These Bodegas were the first stores open 24/7 but instead of being owned by some corporation in Texas they were Mom & Pop stores. They carried everything you could possibly want including homemade candy and specialties.



Some of my friends would build wooden carts, buy a block of ice and cover it with burlap and would sell Snow Cones. On the top of the cart were the usual flavors like Cherry, Grape and such but on a shelf under the cart they carried a homemade drink called Chococo. This heady mixture of cocoa, coconut and Rum could be added to the adult’s snow cones for an extra 25 cents. My friend Carmelo’s parents made this drink and sold it out of their apartment to everyone in the neighborhood for years as I was growing up. I was totally unaware of this until one day when no one was home we opened a bottle and drank it. It tasted so good we drank it all. I think I still get a hangover just thinking about it.



Our particular block was well suited to stickball games and the older guys would play for serious money. The whole neighborhood would come out to see the local boys take on another neighborhoods boys. Really they were “gangs” and this was a peaceful way of besting each other and having bragging rights. People would line the streets and stand on the fire escapes to watch the games. It was Yankee Stadium in El Barrio. Carmelo’s grandfather an elderly man of 70 or so would walk up and down the streets with a steaming pot of homemade pasteles to sell to the crowds. He was the Latin hot dog vendor. Of course, many on the sidelines could be seen sharing a bottle of my friend’s family recipe of Chococo that was basically the first Mudslide drink.



Yes, the Latino community was filled the friendliest, kindest, most religious, and hardest working people I ever knew. They also had a sense of decency and dignity that belied everything they did. In closing I want to relate my last remembrance of living as a minority in El Barrio. As I grew, my friends and I became separated by marriage, the draft, college, and some went back to the Island. Over the years, I grew and went to Spellman High School which was far from the slums of the South Bronx and lost my connection with the new people who moved into the neighborhood. We always nodded to one another but really did not know each other. I felt more and more like an outsider and became more concerned as the violence and crime in the neighborhood grew with each passing year.



One day, I was coming home from school and a man approached me that I did not really know. I was on guard fearing the unknown nature of his approach. He was rather tough looking and swaggered up to me as I approached my apartment building. He said, “Hey Longhair, I want to speak with you.” I put on my best poker face and stopped to see what this was about and inside was a little more than scared about the situation. He said, “You know, we always see you coming here with your girlfriend”. I grew very suspicious, as this conversation did not sound like it was going in the right direction. He continued, “ We notice you coming to and from school and going to work too. I just want to speak for all the people in this building and the neighborhood. We respect you a great deal and think you and your girlfriend are really nice people. We wanted you to know that we have been watching you for some time now. You should know that you must never be afraid as we all watch out for you and her and would never allow anything to happen to you two or your mother and father. I don’t want to delay you further but I thought you should know.” He walked away without my being able to say anything but “Thank you”. The lump in my throat prevented me from saying any more. I wanted to say more. I wanted to tell him how much that meant to me but that was impossible. How could anyone relay what that meant to me.



I eventually moved out of the neighborhood and moved to somewhere on Long Island where I was no longer a minority. Although I am now part of the majority, I never felt as safe, secure and yes, loved as much as I did as a minority in El Barrio.

"Please come to order! Please come to order!!", the Alcalde, Gordo Funcionario del Gobierno, said again - this time pounding his coffee-cup-cum-gavel to add weight to his words. "Don Pedro, Jefe, that includes you two, also. Please, everyone find yourselves a seat."

Don Pedro reluctantly broke off his grave conversation with Jefe Tienda, owner of the largest transportation company in the area. Although he had several trucks, by far, his greatest horsepower was still of the four-footed kind. The poorly paved roads to an extensive array of dispersed villages still made the pack horse more suitable than the pickup.

Jefe Tienda had been telling Don Pedro the dreadful consequences of a mystery disease affecting the transport animals, not only in the Aldehuela Aburrido Valley, but throughout the country. Daily, reports were sent to the national capitol about seemingly healthy animals suddenly losing weight rapidly, standing in their stalls seemingly asleep just after the evening feeding but lying in their stalls dead the next morning.

At first the anecdotes were disregarded as the propaganda of animal's rights fanatics. When the trickle of reports became a torrent, even the most skeptical politicians embraced the cause for cure. Facts mixed with fear were spreading panic among the owners, no less than through the droves.

Don Pedro had heard the rumors, early of course. Years before, he had read about some deaths, while accidentally reading post cards sent to residents of Veralento from distant relatives. He, as did Jefe Tienda, and most others, dismissed the first reports because it seemed to strike only the sterile mixed offspring of horses and burros. While they had their place in the scheme of things, Don Pedro harbored the belief, and he was not alone in this, that the disease was a punishment from God striking down the unnatural, unholy abominations. It was even jokingly referred to as "Eunuch's Disease."

The joking stopped when it started toppling even the pedigreed thoroughbreds and purebred donkeys. Slowly, the realization came that purebreds who shared food and particularly carrots at the trough risked contracting the disease.

Since it was virtually impossible to stop the sharing, the population demanded the government spend massive amounts of money uncovering the cause and finding a cure.

That was what the night's agenda concerned. The Mayor was to announce important discoveries in the war against Eunuch's Disease

Don Pedro pulled away from his tete-a-tete with Jefe Tienda with a shudder of anxiety. What if this struck Guapo y Aislado? How would he be able to transport the mail? ... and to think that his reward for all the carrots he had forced upon Guapo y Aislado might mean the burro's death and Don Pedro forced to distribute the mail on foot. It was just not fair!

Don Pedro had just about comfortably squirmed himself into a folding chair provided by the Munificent Comodo Furniture Company for the occasion, when the alcalde rapped his gavel again to start the meeting.

"Senores and Senoras, we all know we are gathered here tonight to confront the gravest health crisis we have ever encountered. As your mayor, I want you to know that I have been leading the fight to reveal the cause and find a cure for Eunuch's Disease ever since it's presence was first discovered by our country's distinguished vice-president last month.

You can rest assured the government is doing all it can to protect the health of your horses, mules, donkeys and even, your ass, Senor Blanco. Not to mention, your kids."

Immediately, there arose from the audience shrieks and moans of grief. Senora Fracaso fainted, but quickly regained her composure.

Undeterred, the alcalde proceeded. "Tonight, we are pleased to have in our midst Professor Vacio Cabeza, who has brought with him pamphlets to teach us how to protect our beloveds. So without further ado, I give the stage to you, Professor Cabeza."

There was a smattering of polite applause, but mostly stoney-faces above folded arms on chests and silence due to consideration of the Professor's esteem within the government.

Professor Cabeza unfolded himself from his seat. He was of medium height but too thin. His face formed somewhat of a large oval. He had big, drooping eyes and large, almost long, almost pointed ears. His heavy boots covering ridiculously small feet, clopped noisily on the wooden stage as he strode to the podium.

"Good evening, all. It is my unenviable duty tonight to tell you about this scourge which is cutting down our best and brightest draft animals. I am charged to tell you that while no cure is yet available, huge sums will be planned to be allocated by your government to administer pilot programs geared to prevention and prevention information dissemination.

Your hearts will swell with pride, I am sure, when I tell you that tonight in towns and villages across the length and breadth of our great nation, in large halls and small backrooms, like this, government scientists will hand out to millions of consumers, such as yourselves, these two-color illustrated pamphlets which I am about to give to you. These pamphlets will teach you about the once mystery ailment we have found to be caused by the Equus coli bacteria, whose scientific name is Super E. bola XXIX.

Trillions of pesos spent on research thus far has concluded that Super E. bola is spread by non-casual contact with infected carrots. Apparently, bodily fluids from a stricken animal adheres to mites found on the grounds of barnyards and stalls. When a carrot falls to the ground, the mites selectively attack the outer skin of the carrot and burrow beneath to lay their eggs. It seems that they prefer carrots to all other animal feed, especially corncobs, but sometimes will infest jicama, if carrots aren't available.

When a healthy animal eats an attacked carrot it thereby ingests the bodily fluid coated mite with the Super E. bola. It is that ingesting which gives them the two percent risk of contracting so-called Eunuch's Disease. I would like to state at this juncture, that we at the Government Animal Health Bureau and Board of Tourism, find it less stigmatizing when we call the disease Reproductively Challenged Coli Syndrome, or R. C. Coli Syndrome. We hope with more budgetary allocations to eventually develop a vaccine derived from the killed bacteria, a Killed R.C. Coli, if you please, vaccine.

For now, though, there are several immediate steps you can take to help your animals.

First, don't let your animals share carrots with any unknown jackass, especially if they have been in service at entertainment venues, like circuses or theme parks. The highest concentration of deaths have been among performing animals.

Second, observe good hygiene in the preparation of animal feed. Put the carrots in the feedbag or trough, not thrown on the ground. O.K., I know, just as you do that even after putting the feed directly in the safe areas, Ole Dobbin, will invariably nuzzle it all over the ground and then eat it. That is why the next precaution is so necessary. That is,

Thirdly, always use a barrier method described in the pamphlet to protect the carrots from bodily fluids."

Professor Cabeza probably said a lot more but Don Pedro was thinking so hard upon what he had heard and so hard upon how he might protect Guapo y Aislado that he drifted into a heavy-lidded meditation, so he heard no more. He was startled into awareness by the loud movement of chair legs scraping sawdusted floor and a rise of voice as the meeting adjourned.

Don Pedro got a pamphlet. He read it voraciously.

"Before you all go", a voice called attention to itself; it source was Jefe Tienda. "I want everyone to know that I received a load of the safety protected carrots at my downtown location yesterday afternoon. You can buy these protected and government inspected carrots immediately, for a nominal additional cost."

"I must think of Guapo y Aislado's health, not the additional cost." Don Pedro thought as he paid the four times more for protected carrots than raw corporate-farm grown ones. "Besides, the money invested now would have to be spent anyway on extra worn out shoe leather, if I had to walk my rounds without my precious burro."

True to his inclination and the advice of the government pamphlet, Don Pedro filled Guapo y Aislado's feed trough with protected carrots, after careful washing and disinfecting.

"Look, Senor Aislado, carrots for you. See, each one is protected in a soybean based plastic sheath so you can eat without fear of getting sick. Isn't that wonderful?"

Guapo y Aislado could not believe it. There, in his own trough, almost overflowing, were the largest bunches of beautiful glistening carrots he'd ever seen.

Plunging his face into the midst of the cornucopia, he crunched down on the the first bite of sheathed, inspected, disease-protected carrot.

"YUCK!" It was hideous. The plastic sheathing did more than prevent disease. It did more than block the sweet taste of carrot. It replaced the pleasure with a mildly nauseating bitterness, not to mention, extra chewing, just to choke down the unyielding mass.

"I think I'll stick with this jicama over here.", he mused, nibbling on an errant stalk he found on the ground.


To be continued . . .

Veralento, is a bustling bailiwick nestled in a hollow of the greater Aldehuela Aburrido Valley. It is there that the splendiferous office of Don Pedro Grande Entre Las Sabanas, Postmaster of all Veralento, is easily discernible. Its low adobe structure supporting a ramshackle roof obscures for its occupants views of the low clouds that perpetually hug the sides of the the Hormiguero Mountains which ring the valley.

Each day, Don Pedro reaps a harvest of correspondence from the several sacks brought into Veralento from the capital over thirty kilometers away. He then proceeds to sow news and tidings from friends, relatives and solicitors, spanning the corners of the globe, to the good, and not so good, citizens dispersed throughout the four block length of the town. Many are the days when it consumes from just after a breakfast of strong coffee and a machaca burrito until just before a lunch of beef fajitas to complete his rounds.

Despite diligence, daily his progress is impeded by the crowds of neighbors chatting up the latest gossip in mid-street. They seem oblivious to the official government transporter of small four-color publicidades so carefully hand-crafted in far off Avenida Madison. Sometimes, Don Pedro thinks so much news is broadcast by the gossipmongers that, perhaps, his job will be rendered obsolete. After all, who needs to post a letter when within two short hours Esmeralda will have the news that Maria's new three and a half kilo son was born with one blue eye and one brown eye - not surprisingly, the same colors as those of each of his rumored possible father's eyes - even into the cantina on Mercado Place.

In the face of such hardships, there was one benefit of his secure civil service job, it was the regalness of his official vehicle - a two-wheeled carretilla pulled by the dominable Guapo y Aislado, burro extraordinaire.

Guapo y Aislado represented all that embodied the freedom of the open range, even in this dusty hamlet. That is to say, Guapo y Aislado will move, or not, depending upon his whim. Imploring to Guapo y Aislado about the sanctity of the postal delivery system was of no avail. On his very protuberant ears deafness would fall when work was the topic mentioned.

Eating, on the other hoof, was not working. Guapo y Aislado always had time for food. Fortunately, Don Pedro was a bountiful provider. He plied Guapo y Aislado with bushels upon bushel of corn, oats and barley. Sometimes, the good Don even would pause in mid-swallow to pour cold beer from his long-necked Corona with lime into Guapo y Aislado's water bucket.

Guapo y Aislado was ambivalent about the different taste of his water but he was enthusiastic about the wobbliness his fetlocks took on. Guapo y Aislado equine elegance would cast a lascivious grin whenever he got his special water. It amused Don Pedro to see Guapo y Aislado extend his long tongue seemingly licking beer from his eyelids. I should call you, Anteater, instead of Guapo y Aislado, considering how you use your tongue.

There is one item Guapo y Aislado craved more than beer, more than life-sustaining oats, greater than palate-pleasing corn, that, mi buen amigo, is carrots!

Guapo y Aislado envied those with carrots. As for himself, Guapo y Aislado, had had the occasional carrot or two, but never the carrot of his dreams. Still, carrots were so much more than a dream. Even when awake, Guapo y Aislado could visualize them. It was most frustrating. Guapo y Aislado knew from casual observation the carrot he sought existed.

Only last week, Don Pedro had awakened Guapo y Aislado early one fternoon. "Senor Aislado", he called, "we must make ourselves especially presentable today. Today we march as the official government representatives in the grand parade. Such an honor for you, Senor Aislado. You get to carry theAlcalde!"

Such an honor indeed. Guapo y Aislado was honored to transport the ninety-eight kilo bulk of the stocky mayor about in the heat of the evening for two hours. The mayor, equal to the burden of his office, stopped frequently to shake the sweaty palms of the innumerable or kiss their caterwauling offspring. Guapo y Aislado was additionally honored to simultaneously pull the carretilla containing a uniformed and beribboned Don Pedro. Stuck as he was in the parade behind a wagon specially sent, by a Norte Americano Cerveza manufacturer, for the mayor's constituents to enjoy, Guapo y Aislado had a great vantage point to see the carrots that should have been his in the mouths of Clydesdales.

Frequently, and inexplicably, Guapo y Aislado would see the choicest carrots in the feedbags of the emaciated carnival nags. The same ones whose very appearance spoke volumes of their utter disdain for the superb specimens in abundance about them.

In his youth, Guapo y Aislado, had looked gableward with humility and supplication, imploring the great and benevolent Pegasus to hear his brays. Yet, no matter the tone nor volume, the great winged and hoofed god, reserved the best carrots for others.

It was muy possible that Don Pedro knew of Guapo y Aislado's lust. Whenever, the mail load was especially heavy or the destination especially steep, the Don would tether a carrot to a headdress apparatus solidly in the middle of Guapo y Aislado's view but tantalizingly always out of reach.

Inevitably, Guapo y Aislado, dumb brute that he was, would never learn from his past failures, or perhaps, he exhibited courageous hope in the face of repetitive disappointment. In any event, Guapo y Aislado always ran towards his ever retreating object of desire. Frequently, as an insult added to injury, for sometimes the sharp cinders in the path on the way to Dona Maria Alvarez's hacienda cut into Guapo y Aislado's hooves, Don Pedro would remove the carrot from the headgear, then eat it himself with great lip-smacking satisfaction, right in front of Guapo y Aislado!

Guapo y Aislado knew that the track of life is rutted and unfair but he counted upon it being oval. Yes, he might be on a long backstretch of disappointment, but someday, quizas manana, Guapo y Aislado reasoned he'd turn the corner into the homestretch strewn withers-deep with succulent, long stemmed carrots.

Perhaps, today, at the end of the parade Guapo y Aislado would be rewarded with a small carrot for all about him equines of every character were happily nibbling, even wholesale munching on a bountiful storehouse of carrots. Surely, Pegasus would whinny in his favor today.

"Senor Aislado", cooed Don Pedro, "I have a surprise for you...but first I'm going to blindfold you so you can't p-e-e-e-e-k.", drawing out the final syllable for dramatic effect.

"Blindfold away", Guapo y Aislado thought, "I already know your surprise, Oh Pegasus be praised!" Sure enough after the blindfold had been loosely thrown over Guapo y Aislado's eyes, he felt a crisp firmness against his lips. Biting down with an eager crunch, Guapo y Aislado mused, " I know it's been a long time since I had a carrot, but I remember so much more flavor. Can it be I've talked myself into disappointment with over-anticipation?"

Well before he could answer his own question, Don Pedro threw back the bandanna, exclaiming with self-satisfaction, "Yes, Senor Aislado, jicama. My surprises for such arduous work today is all the jicama you can eat. Enjoy!"

"Jicama, my god, what a joke." Guapo y Aislado staggered in disbelief this time, not from too much special water. All his good horse sense did not prepare him for the incongruity of his fate. "All the tantalizing firmness of a real carrot without the sensual pleasure. Is this to be my fate in life? Could I ever accommodate myself to compromise? Ay, dios mio! Is it true, no good deed goes unpunished?"

To be continued . . .

Yes, I was staring into your eyes
You, in your ego thought
He just wants to cleave my thighs.
My thoughts, 'tis true, were overwrought
Pondering if mercurial passion
I could even buy.
My dick on your breast
In yesteryear
Was a means to an end
No longer clear.
Conjuring a core soul-stirring explosion
Climaxing in rest.
Now, I can't even pretend
To understand the why
Of the jealousy I feel
As you hug your man
While inside I die
Save for the notion
That it should not
Have been the effect
of my plan

I cannot handle the fact that I
truly love you
and in the night when I'm with my wife
that I'm thinking of you

Illicit love affair can bring me down
Illicit love affair has no fertile ground to grow.


You were my saviour when I was sad and lonely
But I can't break my vow to my one and only
Illicit love affair can bring me down
Illicit love affair has no fertile ground to grow.


When I see you on the street
with your kids and husband
I die a thousand deaths inside
The pain won't lie down
Illicit love affair can bring me down
Illicit love affair has no fertile ground to grow.


Illicit love affair
Illicit love affair
Illicit love affair
Illicit love affair

by Bob McKenna


Most people who live on Long Island don't know it but there once was a mountain right in what is now the town of Brookhaven. Hardly anyone knew about it so there aren't many who can testify to its existence. I can for I was privileged to be on it.


About twenty years ago my wife and I decided to move to Long Island from the Bronx. Ellen had just given birth to our firstborn, Jason. We never really knew much about Long Island but we wanted a better life for our family so without much investigating we moved.


We found a small but affordable house in Port Jefferson Station and after 4 more years we had our second child Jennifer. I was self-employed so I was able to see my children grow and to be with them for a good part of it.


One year when Jason was 7 and Jennifer was 3; we had a terrific snowstorm. Looking outside in the morning released the little boy within me and I decided to take the day off and to take my kids sledding around the neighborhood. This meant that for the most part they sat on the sled and I pulled it. While towing them around I noticed an undeveloped plot of land about 3 blocks from our house. I had never walked this far and had never noticed what to us was a forest. I decided to take them in because this was as close as I ever got to a forest. We did not have anything like this in the Bronx.


After about 5 minutes we were pretty deep in the woods and I heard other voices. It sounded like children and laughter so I followed the sounds. Sure enough we happened upon a hill with about 20 kids with sleds. Since I had never been on a sled in my life and I did not want to have my first try with 20 kids as unwilling targets so I kept walking. After a little longer just out of the sound of all the kids we came upon the most beautiful place I had ever seen since moving out here. It was just a hill but it was perfect for us. It was only about 50-75 yards long but it was perfectly hidden by rows of tall trees on both sides. A wonderful mixture of trees unlike any we had ever seen. There were pine and maple and oak all clustered together but with a distinct trail right down the middle. I took the kids up and we all made out first trip down any hill, anywhere. It was terrific. The slope was perfect for a novice like two young children and myself. It was not too steep and not too long so the walk back up was good for everyone. We spent many hours going up and down that hill and at the end of the day we vowed to return the next day.



The next day we got up early and the kids were anxious to get back to our special spot. My wife, Ellen, has never been very adventurous but even she decided to come because of all she had heard about it the day before. When we got to the forest we passed the big hill with all the kids and proceeded to our little secluded hill. Just as the day before we had a really good time and stayed until no one was able to make one more trip up the hill. As we walked back we discussed how lucky we were to have found a secluded, safe place to use and it seemed to have been truly undiscovered. We had our own private hill!

We decided over dinner that night since we discovered the hill to call it McKenna’s Mountain.



Over the next few years we visited McKenna’s Mountain every time it snowed and the memories grew. Along with the memories came more baggage too. We now would routinely bring hot chocolate and Cambells Vegetable soup in several containers with spoons, napkins, crackers, and other assorted treats to last the day. After many years we selectively invited a few of our children’s friends and shared our little secret with them. We were careful not tell too many people lest our spot become crowded like so many others. We kept our secret and truly appreciated this special place.



There was a year in, which there just wasn’t enough snow to do any decent sledding so we couldn’t visit McKenna’s Mountain. The next year we were all anxious to return to our little resort and by now even some of kids we had brought before were asking “When are we going back to McKenna’s Mountain?” Our little joke had become reality. People were actually referring to our spot as McKenna’s Mountain.



When the first snow came we decided that since it had been 2 years that we would go early and bring our very best friends to celebrate with us. This time we brought not only hot chocolate and soup but sandwiches, Mallowmars, trail mix, juice and assorted snacks to numerous to mention. We were always careful to pack a garbage bag so we could keep McKenna’s Mountain as clean as the day we found it.



As we approached the forest it looked different somehow. We entered and as we rounded the bend just before McKenna’s Mountain we were stunned. McKenna’s Mountain was gone! Completely and totally gone! It was leveled and a tract of houses had been built since we had last gone there. Each of us cried, some openly and some inside, but we all felt the loss of something important to us. Puff the Mighty Dragon had ceased his fearless roar. We would never again experience the joy of going to our own special, private place in the world.



Although we all hated the developers and even though we knew people had to live somewhere, we just wished it did not have to be McKenna’s Mountain. Time went on and our children grew up so fast. We still have the photos we took up there and there is even a short video but we still miss our times together on that little hill. Although my kids are grown, I am sure if given the chance we would all go back to McKenna’s Mountain to share the laughter and joy one more time.



I do have one more secret to share. We stole part of McKenna’s Mountain. Yes, inside each of our hearts and minds is a little piece of McKenna’s Mountain that still lives. It is ours and no one can tax it, take it, build on it, or destroy it. It’s ours for as long as we live.

(In a slumping economy, Success has many fathers)


I built it,
But they did not come.
The grand opening,
Announced it's demise.
Twenty years by twelve
Blood, sweat and tear-letting hours
To dig a dot-common grave.

Oh, they'll heap praise upon
The entrepreneurs upon whom
Corporate bounty falls.
But will they pause, or think at all,
To toll one mournful bell
On he who tried but fortune stalled,
On he who sunk a dried-up well,
On he banished from glutted Father's Day,
On he the father of the orphan brave.


"Success has many fathers, failure is an orphan!"- folk wisdom