chica got a new place now in spaha
while chiquita's still in spanish harlem
ain't but a couple a blocks but
the rich folks don't wander north and
chiquita got no reason to roam past
the brand new building and watch them pour
chica's concrete floors up on the seventh story.

he's not afraid.

see, chica's downtown through the workweek
and back to the burbs most weekends
mom and dad like to see her and him and
the puppy likes to run up and down the stairs and
sleep in a new room every hour

chica's just holding the property
flipping the space from tenement to luxury loft and
using the two bedrooms as closete space and
a place to rest her head three four times a week.

he stops in most nights
crashes with her in the crook of his inked arm
it's love and she fits and the perks meet his price.

but it's love.

chiquita works nights
data entry
punching six digit combos in excel docs for
wealthy law firms who admire her english accent and
polished demeanor and tasteful attire and
the way she fillls out their quota

he admires her funk
her open-hearted anger with the way
those fuckers talk her down
yeah she don't construct a sentence ideal
she still got street swagger
the type they don't manufacture in the states and
when she brings him home
he kisses her abuelita on the forehead
he makes the rice while
the ladies in the family drink coladas and
bask in the new world role reversal

and it's love.

he don't fear that
they gone meet or
the streets gone speak

he don't fear that
chica don't like latex
that chiquita's on the pill and
that he don't pull out cause
he's monogomous

duogomous maybe

and his brain works rightest
when he's surrounded with
the women he loves

DROP.
YOUR.
SWORD.

BITCH.