Philter

Philter

 

I remember them

lining the back streets of old San Juan

ice cold.

Iniquitous pick-me-ups soliciting the corporeal thirst.

The tall ones at Sloppy Joe’s

across the bar or in the backrooms

were always statuesque, dark, and sinister by nature

but inviting.

Overwhelmed by their outpourings

many men rudely departed

or were slowly eaten away. . .

only to walk again in the shadows.

The risqué ladies that shared such deviltries

were equally attracted

and lured into lifelessness

or suffered the ravages…

but were seen again

looking bitter and ashen.

 

Aimless bodies

wandered in the crowded nights

faltered in the dark streets

and fell face-first from the spell

of a thirst… to devour.

There, in the smell of human flesh

she walked

unlike the rest;

direct, tall, blonde, and creamy white

eyes of a blue so deep

they echoed the siren's call.

Flaunting a smile

she was irresistible.

I thought, “Is this the angel

I heard of, once, in a Sci-Fi flick?”

No words were exchanged

but we fell into step and entered

Sloppy Joe’s.

Almost immediately,

she was beset by two of them

which she knocked back

one with each of her hands.

She seemed to possess a strength

beyond human, beyond existence.

 

Her name was Maya

and she spoke with a voice

like flowing water.

It quenched a man’s dryness

washed peace and promise over his troubled soul.

Yet, when she roared

as she did while downing four more

that came at her from a table across the room

it shocked the inhabitants and trembled the windows.

Confronted, again, by ardent spirits

we struggled to put down as many as possible.

They kicked like mules

but we overpowered and  killed them all,

or so I thought.

She grabbed the last one

still clutched by my hands,

and her voice consumed it.

We kissed.

 

It was the kiss of salvation;

supple, sugary, and spiritual

as though my libido had been drained

of all its hypocrisy.

In this wilderness of atrocities…

This moment outran perfection.

We lingered, perhaps too long

but it was incremental

and only seemed to approach unending.

Suddenly, my legs folded beneath me.

In a state of weakness and vulnerability

I was rescued from the man-eaters

by this huntress of souls.

Her hands brought quick dispatch to

the lurid assailants

while her voice restored my strength.

 

As, once again my body became upright…

she was gone.

Alone, and surrounded

I threw down two of the ravishers

and scurried into the street.

The thought of outrunning them

was a mistake

for they came at me from all sides.

I dashed into a Bamboo Bar

scrambled to the upper deck.

Nowhere else to run

they had me trapped and cornered.

With nothing but a sea of them before me

all hope was nearly lost

until her voice resounded behind me

and the unchaste fell one by one.

This was my deliverance

or was it?

As she entwined me in her arms

she was noticeably different;

those luscious eyes of blue attraction

were now a radiant, fearsome red

and suddenly, all went black.

 

I awoke to total whiteness

sunlight, and breeze

a strange apparition

almost glowing with reflected light.

My eyes thought it was heaven.

Crossing the room

out onto the veranda

and realizing this place was ten

maybe twelve, stories up

there, in the burning noonday sun

I tried to recall the happenings of last night

but to no avail.

On the table, under the cruet

was a note, “Meet me at Los Animos”

and though it was written with a feminine hand

this message meant nothing to me.

My last memory was of a taxi ride to the old part of town.

Later, with my mind still uncertain

I headed down in the elevator.

and once outside, hailed a cab and entered..

“Los Animos,” I said to the driver.

He gave me a strange look and shook his head ,”No.”

I repeated, “Los Animos.”

Again, a head shake and a “No.”

The third time I supported my request with a twenty.

He rolled his eyes, took the bill

and drove …perhaps a hundred feet

stopping outside of the “Los Animos” lounge.

“Oh!” I replied and got out.

 

Inside the lounge it was midday trade

just a few couples and a drunk or two.

On stage a jazz combo

was introducing their singer.

Her name was Maya.

 

All of it flashed quickly through my brain.

She was the blue-eyed angel that I remembered

She smiled at me and I smiled back.

Her voice was watery and smooth.

I listened to her, intently

and as she was finishing her set

I ordered two “Zombies.“