My Favorite Mexican Word Is Guacala Poem by Nate Peligeiro

I was at El Harem
last night…
Tonight
I have a date
and not a lot matters
until that hour arrives.

Well, maybe my first drink.

Aside from drinking,
I'm shadow boxing
in my cell.
A few push ups.
X another day
off the calendar.
The music is coming
pretty loud
through the speakers too.

I can't do anymore
for the Job,
I just can't.
I won't.
I refuse.

Sundown,
I made it this far.
Soon
I'll be able to shower.

It's not what you think.

There's no water pressure here
during the day.
You can only shower early mornings
or evenings
if you desire
more than a trickle.

Then there's the sewer bubbling up
and all the distinct smells-
taco diarrhea,
old man pissed himself,
guacamole guacala,
and other sensual violations
too horrible to describe.

I suspect bodies rotting
there underground.
There's a predilection
for decapitation and severing limbs
down here.

American appetite
for Mexican drugs
provides for much death,
innocents and otherwise.

Torreon?
Guacala.
I'm going down
to Oaxaca.