Soft Shoe In Chihuahua
    Jarold Ramsey

he next dance is mine, the last, chiquita,
said the languishing man in the three-cornered
straw sombrero, clicking his bony tongue
like castanets. But she and I,
still high on the jive of orange margaritas,
kept whirling in our brazen tango round
and round the frowzy palmettos in buckets, past
the sallow gringo in the hat by the door,
keeping ourselves alive and everywhere
on the wits of our toes.

In Posse: Potentially, might be ...