Tonight's Poet Corner: Date Night

Date Night
by Belinda Roddie

We are the oddest couple sitting in
the taquería, and that says a lot. After all,
the old hombre with the copper snake
is nestled in the corner, feeding
the scaly thing crumbs of beef from his
disintegrating taco.

I look down at my plate of chorizo,
then at my hands. They're the color,
and probably the texture, of burned
leather. She doesn't seem to mind, though,
quietly sipping her mojito. Her red curls
fall in wet lumps across her forehead,
her shriveled knees twitching against her
wheelchair. She smiles at me, to let me
know that she's doing okay.

Tomorrow, we travel south, to see
my family. Mi padre doesn't take
kindly to our marriage. He says
we are being tested by God, and we must
rise to the challenge. Usually, when he
gets going, I nod and hide my raised
middle finger behind my can of mango soda.

We are odd, yes, in this part of town. We
are color in a city hall pamphlet of grays
and blacks and whites. We are two women
who grew up speaking different languages but
met in the same school. That was when she
could still run and play soccer. She's still
active at the rec center, just as a coach now.

The waiter comes by and asks if
we want more salsa. She says yes at
the same time I say no. So we go with
her decision. She shares a kiss with me,
and it tastes like onions and mint and
rum and cayenne pepper, but somehow
I'm left with sugar on my tongue. She pulls
the spicy out of me with her lips, and
leaves me with the sweet every time.