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By chris Date: 2007 Mar 29 Comment on this Work [[2007.03.29.12.32.13768]] |
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Leaving Mexico behind us (for now) we head across the Bootheel - picturesque land of dry playas and alkali dust and no-people towns with names like Hachita - little axe! - and Border Patrol in air-conditioned Suburbans and fat Minutemen in lawn chairs with giant coolers within easy reach. I hear or maybe I imagine hearing you whisper curses - Putos y pendejos... Viva la raza... Still, You look uncomfortable as we speed past them at eighty - a brown face in a brown land, the look of receding horizons in your brown eyes framed by yellow grass and yucca with needles sharp enough to draw blood. |