At the Palacio Municipal, you can pay outstanding parking tickets with counterfeit 20 dollar bills and frayed-edged loteria cards.
I keep La Sirena for myself and go out into the rain with only a paper umbrella to keep the ghosts out of my ears. They get in anyway.
In the square the Independence Youth Orchestra plays waltzes for your wristwatch that keeps time backwards and Ginger Rogers dances the lead for a change.
Epitome of everything you mistake for female, she is actually an avatar of Venus whose sea foam birth was foreseen by the side-street organ grinder.
Born Virginia Katherine McMath, this fecund goddess is the queen of a girl-crazy, blue-eyed god, who creates and destroys the matter of the universe.
As I walk toward the cathedral, your watch, the waltzes, and my paper umbrella turn to pink pulp and shower around my shoulders like the bougainvillea dropping petals. I look longingly at a little girl's roller skates, as Ginger Rogers drives by, a blue dress flapping from the bumper of her Lincoln.
