i was walking
into a mural

the watercolors
and oils splashed
across my skin and
dripped towards my

i felt like a paintbrush
on legs looking for
a canvas

and i heard a man’s
voice call out: Hey,
you look like Santana!

i looked and i saw a
brown finger
pointing at me

the man leaned
against the wall
of a donut shop
taking sips of something
in a brown paper bag

i looked into
the donut shop
window at my

i don’t look like
no goddamned
Santana! I said

I’ve run into
so many people
with Santana stories

“I used to play with
I parked
I walked Santana’s
I kicked Santana’s
ass in high school
I stole Santana’s
hat at a party
I found Santana’s
guitar pick at a garage
sale (along with his afro
I stood beside Santana
at the urinal at the drive-
in and i saw Santana back
out of a parking spot and hit
another car. I got out and
said, “It’s the other guy’s
fault! I saw the whole
Santana autographed
my terry cloth towel
at the beach, a great
big S in black ink.

Everybody has
a Santana story

it’s like walking
into a

(c) 2017 Tony Robles


One Reply to “Santana”

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