La Pareja

"The Lonely Ones" Edvard Munch, 1906

By: Jennifer Greenwood

Slack bodied, we saunter

doughy streets prop us up

hungover guiris

summer is the air: thick

like slicing through tortilla.

We are two

we are each other’s

the crowds mean nothing to us

they are but a backdrop

a painting we entered

pinks bleeding into yellows

still squelching and fluid

alive with the smell of trash and ammonia.

The South American’s church bell

rang a long time ago

we heard it but never entered there.

The junkies are outside the church as always

they are also next door

thumbing cigarettes and talking

vibrating nonchalance

until seven, until our ears ache.

Our tiny apartment

The most beautiful place I ever lived

drinking cold Mahou from cans

tender from the day’s work

days between the last fight and the next.