Cuban women will often say of a lazy man
that he spends his days fanning his testicles.
I gave up making money years ago
and multiplying loaves and fishes
and sleeping on the nail bed of duty
I gave up trembling
before the gods of consequence
gave up walking the dog
taking my wife for rides in the country
looking up books in the library
articles on the internet
bread on supermarket shelves
gave up ogling at pretty girls and whistling
I abandoned if you really want to know
any hope of redemption
any vestige of a sex life
I then happily surrendered to idleness
and now sit on the sofa in my bathrobe
its flaps halfway open
so that I may fan my sweaty testes.
Hours of daily practice have made
me a fanning master
for the purpose I use a cardboard fan
stapled to a flat wood handle
I picked up at García’s pharmacy
where my wife works
on the windward side is a cheap reproduction
of a Murillo madonna holding a bambino
as the fan swings her eyes look up
from the folds of all that blue and gold
cloth to my crotch my penis
resting comfortably on my thigh
blind smug uncircumsized
the testicles under it
hanging from the branch like ripe figs
then her eyes disappear into the false
modesty of the downswing I almost get an erection
thinking about the Virgin Mary
watching me but it is too much
effort in this heat and so I continue
my artful fanning.
When my wife gets home from working
the double shift she gives me a murderous look
I have not bathed or shaved or washed the dishes
she walks past me and disappears
into the bedroom an hour later
she comes back out dressed in a low-cut
blue blouse and tight spandex pants
her hair flows down to her shoulders
in red waves and from her neck hangs
a gold pendant that says in cursive Gotcha!
she leaves without saying where she’s going or when
she’ll be back she leaves like the wind
of derision like an ebbtide of indifference
and while in the old times I’d be jealous
and scream tonight I don’t care
let her have a hundred others let
a thousand worms slither over her perfumed flesh
I am fanning my testicles today.
An hour after she leaves the sun goes down
behind the palm trees that line
the avenue and I feel a cool wind blowing
at last I can rest my arm
put down the madonna on the coffee table
have a drink from the water glass
that has rested before me all day and take
a deep restorative breath
I do none of these things I keep fanning
through the night into early morning
when the wife comes home in a happy mood
and goes to sleep I keep fanning
until the only thing to do is fan
some more the madonna irrelevant
the night irrelevant the song of evening
toads outside my window a chorus to this tale
I am fanning my testicles today.
