The firewood was on the grass.
It was a normal Texan summer.
A grazing beef was gaining mass.
In brief, I felt a pure bummer.
My partner Julio and I
Hid in the shadows of each other.
I said: — Amigo, let us buy
Two space suits. Holly freaking mother!
He came from Mexico last spring,
I am from Sochi, if you care.
The similarities we bring
End at the moment you compare.
I won my Green Card. What a luck!
And him… Oh, that’s another story:
He paid to some illegal schmuck
To cross that sacred territory.
We speak no English, not a bit,
But we invented Russian Spanish.
My wife and kids already quit
To understand me. I’m banished.
I taught my Julio some words
The Russians use when irritated.
He’s now cursing poor herds
And staying firmly agitated.
A lunchtime brings a lot of fun:
We are discussing our future.
The outcome sometimes is none,
All other times is very mucho.
Imagine: Julio will build
Sombrero factory in Georgia.
And I will sell a cargo filled
With balalaikas, neat and gorgeous.
Forgive us, dear mister Jones.
The day will come, I’m almost sure:
Your unattended cow bones
Will no longer be a lure.
I’ll flush my food stamps to the bowl
And buy my dental from Obama.
The only thing that ails my soul:
I really-really miss my mama.