first date

The rare ladies of Matamoros
never wear sunscreen
wave silken red scarves
through upstairs windows

beckon us squeamish teens,
excited as hot cats
on baking cobblestones,
inside their spare home.

we turn off idling cell phones
thrust open the wooden door
step slowly up twisting stairs
wonder what mom would think?

down the hill in
our dark favorite bar
two hours later without
the dear helpful ladies,

playful celebration ensues
a laughing toast or two,
stories several drinks

time to pay the bill
stumble home
to doze and dream
like fat replenished cats

reaching for back pocket wallets
we each find only empty cloth

stammering, feeling stupid
now we start to learn
the true net cost of
our first date

and of being burned
by the sultry
silky ladies
of Matamoros.