The important issues of work, where I go out at night, and other mundane trivialities

Two Fridays ago I dined with my ex-family,

And despite the fact that I’m now standing free,

Our natural, liquid chemistry

Came back even pre-wine, quite immediately.

Next night, bar-hopped at the Plaza de Santa Ana

With Austrians, the Venezuelan brothers, and a South Africana.

Chugging calimochos (a mix of red wine, coke, and a

Swab of the sweat of Erica Bana).

Sunday I saw “There will be blood”

With a student who’s become an out-of-class bud.

The following week I worked like a stud.

I’m collecting money like earthworm researchers collect mud.

See, I’m saving for a sensual saunter to Santiago,

A one-month pilgrimage through Northern Spain’s montaña, campo, and lago

An experience on the spiritual level of eating Ikura and Tamago,

Or, hell, just finding a nice table at Spago.

Anyway, I work hard, I play hard, and the weekends are good,

Especially Thursday night in Chueca, the gay neighborhood!

Although even that night we started at a Basque bar in La Latina, where wine tastes like wine should.

And ended in Tribunal, at La Via Lactea, my best discovery since earthworm cages of wood.

On Friday, Santa Ana, in a discoteca playing oldies songs,

With my Austrian and Venezuelan friends, dancing the whole night long.

Next night some Spanish buds and I watched Real Madrid whack around its opponent like ping-pong

Then, out from the sports bar, we hit “Moby Dick,” a club near the soccer stadium.*

Sunday night I returned to my old host family’s house,

To watch the second Spanish Presidential debate, a true verbal boxing bout.

Today, ETA killed a Socialist ex-councilman: Spain mourns…and wonders which side the attack will help out.

Two days from now, after Sunday’s elections, we’ll have an account.

*Just work with me on this one. Pronounce “stadium” like “stadi-ong.”