Argentina
She lays along the continent
The woman of the Patagonias
Her Pampas are no longer settled
By natives who had once
Lived along the Plata’s banks.
Completely settled by the Anglos
The cities where the dance
Goes on and on
Deep into the night
Deep into the night
Where men’s heels kick
And women’s breast heave up and down
While teeth clutch on to rose
And hand grips hand and waist.
Where bodies flew
From helicopters into water
Where mothers walked
And crushed the despots
Clinging on to power
This place where sidecurls
Mix along with the franciscan caps
Where mate cups
Are held as tightly by the hands
As Maradona football flying into nets.
And dog crap dots
The narrow streets.
And dog crap dots
The narrow streets.
not-rushin 