Song& Poem by Morgan Michaels

I wish we were in Spain, tonight
Marbella, Bilboa- who cares!
sierra or shear Balearic shore
even the capital would be alright
where we got mugged so politely
in nineteen ninety-three,

Would I were strapped in tight
on a cheap, late-night flight
calming my jitters with Parador
the wine of the Conquistadors
and Xanax and further Parador
as up we go, what for!

I wish we were there, alright,
in the country, fragrant and mistful
or in a correa, watching a fight
cheering for the bull, as usual
flashing on golden braid and drinking
beer in the sun, unafraid,

For tomorrow could only bring more
chef-ombras in more museums-
luminous Zubarans and/or more
Murillos, his pious twin;
but you have to go to the Prado
to see Las Meninas, you know.