oh, sailor! (2)

a sailor in white, ironed uniform,
with a wine bottle in hand,
shoelaces untied
and toes firmly buried in the sand,
approached me on the bay.

he said:
“i’m willing to pay
for your love tonight.”

and then he started telling his tale:
28, white male,
from the suburban area of Tennessee.

“i don’t know what’s wrong with me.
see, i’ve spent all my money
on hookers, wine and cigars.

but i am a sailor, i can take you far
away from the cheap, cold night.
i’m looking for passion,
so put your body in my hands,
be mine…”

“boy, you cannot look for love
in the foggy dew of the night.
cannot come and pretend
that a one-night stand is fine.”

then, he answered:
“well, a dirty love…
what more can you expect from a man
that doesn’t dream since January, nineteen eighty-nine?”