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By chris Date: 2007 Apr 14 Comment on this Work [[2007.04.14.01.24.2380]] |
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Leaving Mexico behind us for the time being (the world could end tomorrow but we'll always have Palomas), we head west along the border - scenic land of dry playas and whole kingdoms of caliche and no-people towns with names like Hachita - little axe! - and Border Patrol in air-conditioned Suburbans and fat Minutemen guarding it all in lawn chairs with giant, ice- filled coolers within easy reach. The spring wind pushes a dust devil across the highway. I hear or maybe I imagine I hear you whisper curses against the hum of the asphalt - Putos y pendejos... Viva la raza... Still, a brown face in a brown land, you look uncomfortable as we speed past them at eighty. If I were to look I would see receding horizons in your eyes framed by yellow grass and green yucca with needles sharp enough to draw blood. Pinos Altos, New Mexico, March 2007 |