do the cha-cha (in memoriam)

(uno)

el negro vargas died sunday before dawn

i stood by his bed staring down on him as if asleep

(something about dead bodies gives them away

his right leg wasn’t quite in a restful guise)

proud of his countryside origins and life

of hard labor he spent his last years

on the corner at the entrance of his alley

and at a little park near the social security

building where many retirees hang out

amid saucy conversation and recollections

always in search of political and social savvy

he christened hugo chavez with a new moniker

–chachachá- and would not miss an opportunity

to say the man was my godfather _now

news of the comandante’s death

surprised some of us on tuesday

as we readied for vargas’s long walk

so these ramblings are in his memory

(mostly reminiscences of news in the press

and our insolent commentaries)

(dos)

in the end dieterich was right on the money

he figured the president was as good as stiff

it was a matter of course _he said

the man wouldn’t leave the hospital alive

while the government declared

they’ve been saying for days the colonel died

and next they vociferously asserted

it was his de facto enemies who had him cancer

poisoned some sort of foul play was at work

it’d be fifty years yet when a declassified doc

would reveal the killer hand

and we all laughed in amusement _we

the unenlightened ones and with a sense of humor

(tres)

but boffola was the stuff the colonel himself

was made of and we’ve grown accustomed to it

after the initial outrage that is

for the lump of blatant affronts and smears

spewing absurd upon absurd with a twist

because even for a guy with a twisted loaf

his lines and doings were defiant of lunacy

(shuffle)

_It’s very difficult to explain, even with the law

of probabilities, what has been happening to some

of us in Latin America (what…you mean getting sick)

_would it be so strange that they’ve invented

technology to spread cancer (wait shush quitdat)

but he went on and told us about life on mars

halloween as terrorism

about the martyr liberator of libya

and bush being the devil and the jewish

cabal which runs the world

and go straight to hell mr blair

go to hell gringos go home missy

(uno)

and still it all came down very neatly

to a chronicle of a death foretold

_in the old barracks in caracas once

the stage of his failed coup his embalmed

remains will rest for the people to behold

for kingdom come just like the thousand

year reichstag mao’s china or bolivar’s dream

but still none could equal his talent for farce

and knack for skanky politics

(dos)

fresh out of prison he launched a tour-de-farce

to find like-minded mofos to finance his apetite

first he met with the narco-guerrillas honchos

in colombia next he was welcomed in cuba

like a head of state by the main barbudo

who sent him off with his blessing

and a thinking apparatus in support _he did

his foreign policy in montevideo sao paulo

and assorted airports to everyone’s dismay

and delight _soon he was in league

with iran north-korea lybia sudan

russia became his main arms supplier

china his leading creditor _so he gave

free money to ecuador free oil to nicaragua

free bolivia to evo morales _it was freebies

all around in a shopping spree of latin loyalty

(tres)

by the time he gained power he had gone

through a feast of rehearsals

ready for main stage at the high rise red platform

a cloth backdrop with his version of revolutionaries

pancho villa and bolivar thrown in the mix

before a crowd who’d spend their saturdays

in huge political rallies of nazi proportions

but who came from slums in a caravan

of government provided buses

each rider given a lunch bag with pamphlets

to digest they descend at the altamira plaza

and begin the march to the presidential palace

amid a pandemonium of trumpet blasts blaring speakers

peoples screaming with mouthfuls of food and beer

and hawkers with chacha dolls reciting

revolution slogans with the pull of a cord

and just before dusk he walks the stage to its edge

microphone in hand his face gleaming (like jesus

at the handouts) his head topped with a sombrero

and a mariachi entourage surrounding him

he goes into a spirited medley of rancheras

and it’s a explosion of paroxysm in absurdism

(shuffle)

undoubtedly he was a phenomenal entertainer

a showman extraordinaire who barraged fire

to anyone considered enemy or pick of choice

(uno)

lapdogs of the empire you will get stung 
and you dear secretary suffering from sexual plight

can’t help you condoleezza can’t make that sacrifice

and bush he called simply an asshole

announcing military confrontation up on a mountain 
with a rifle to fulfill his delusion on bolivar

for whom he saved an empty chair at the table

and declared him his hero instead of superman

so from here on next move would seem most logical

yes he had the old lunger exhumed to try and prove

that he was poisoned _but no he was not of course

next he bathed himself with the blood of the lion

(mysteriously disappeared) from the caracas zoo

and in what may be considered a sort of consecration

or some kind of voodoo shite he had four babalaos

sprinkle dust cursory prepared with all the malevolence 
of tapheth from sacks over caracas from an army

helicopter _a feat worthy of smith’s 18000 blessings

in a single shot…

(dos)

but i digress let’s get back to our accolade

_voices voices as if a chorus_

of ministers and family...maduro leading_

all blowing hot air into the waves messages

misinformation plugs communiques

he was getting better

decrees were being signed

conversations with advisers by the hour

instructions given

but no photos of the ubiquitous man

it was a score for doubt and suspicion

until spanish abc reported the dialogs nonexistent

twitter messages false so the chorus voiced louder

_we all are chachas chacha has not died chacha lives

bis

(tres)

the inside version among the military in the know

says that he died in havana last tuesday morning

at seven it came from cuba to fort tiuna

a defense complex where the hospitalito’s located

and where the task of dressing him up concluded

(shuffle)

it’s not known at what moment of wednesday

he was taken to the basement

while an empty similar coffin was taken

to the military hospital from where

it was paraded in procession during seven hours

with a sandbag dummy in full military garb

red beret boots insignias and all

as it was exalted as spiritual father and martyr

by his followers who were allowed to touch rub

fondle and whack the deceitful casket

without having to risk the physical integrity

of the true one _they couldn’t take any chances

(one)

it was past noon when they took el negro out

to st james apostle church for one last mess

for i’ve never knew him to attend any services

except for those given at the whorehouses

and saloons then the crowd carried the casket

to the last street of the neighborhood where

it was put in a pickup truck and taken away

to the cemetery _three loaded buses followed

it was a feast sons and daughters grieved

friends with sad faces sighed and smiled

some cried some just looked dumbfounded

and when everyone left there was a feeling

of having met the circumstances bravely

(dos)

chacha’s gone too _he left with great pomp

but a feeling of vainglory also persists

amid contrary views about his achievements

all the phrases and slogans empty

can’t change the fact that food subsidies

resulted in shortages and the i have done

everything out of love and ten million votes

down their throats won’t change the angst

of a middle class heading into a dead end

_purportedly he did have some final words

general ornella at his bedside conveyed them

to the world _i don’t want to fuckin’ die

please don’t let me die

(tres)

at the small park by the ss building old fellows

still contend on who was best at the cabaret

lola with the wide hips on a guaracha number

or slender rosa doing a bebo valdes mambo

and wasn’t she a number herself

and how ‘bout that cha-cha queen what’s her name

while a small crowd some with red bandanas

parades chanting _fatherland socialism or death

the show must go on_

there go the chavistas -says an old man

one more cha-cha maestro -says another one

ain’t nothing to it -adds yet another

seen them come and seen them go –

he was quite a dude though –

ah nothing more than three steps and a shuffle