Mamasita! Mamasita! Mamasita!
the school children cry as she passes by
the old Spanish witch
don't let her touch you or you'll surely die
was the oft repeated cry
she pays no heed other than a wiff of a smile
as she trudles on
with intention and purpose
in her BRIGHT GREY EYES

Day and night she walks the streets
wind, rain and unrelenting sun
lull the drunken city to sleep
but Mamasita never shuts
those BRIGHT GREY EYES

Wrinkles cover her sunken face
her once long and unruly mane of raven hair
now gray and matted - is plaited
stretching down her curved back
all the way to her waist
this sad pathetic figure
was once the first prize
of an incestuous and fossilized family
with her olive skin
and thick fine brows
that framed those lascivious stars
of BRIGHT GREY EYES

She turned up her nose at many a suitor
and now many, many years later
she still wears the same ample turquoise skirt
that she wore on the night
the last one was turned away
with tears in her BRIGHT GREY EYES

The past is banished
but Mamasita dwells there still
with each step she takes
her broken shoes clicking on the pavement
she hears not the shouts of the children
as she heads home to her hovel
but instead hears the clicking of champagne glasses
and smells its mannered aroma
the shouts are to her
the chatter of a cultured audience
marveling at
her GREAT GREY EYES

Those eyes that perfectly
matched the startling luminicity
of the ballroom chandeliers
all memories that existed long before
she became Mamasita
and long before the leprosy came and
touched her body ever so lightly
the past never returned for Mamasita
but the past provided dignity
and Mamasita was only a ghost
that fluttered briefly
on this present stage
with BRIGHT GREY EYES

Mamasita! Mamasita! Mamasita!

Mamasita! Mamasita! Mamasita!

Mamasita! Mamasita! Mamasita!

Mamasita! Mamasita! Mamasita!

Mamasita! Mamasita! Mamasita!