Phantasmagoria in Mexico

a cottonmouthed and blurry dawn

finding my ass hauled to a border

where creatures breathe in open doorways

that swing open along muddy streets

where splintered cars

stagger past 

exhausting streams of stench into the vinegary tasting air

that goes unnoticed

across constant ditches and potholes buried in conquistador mud   

and toothy faces

grinning icy brown from cold water shivers

chatter along in loose lingo

while squealing parakeets

jailed on the calle

desperate for seed

hustle along 

hoping for another sunrise

dark

dark

Mexico

where a good meal's an offering

where devotees sleep it off 

on the steps of Iglesia del Carmen

and wake up to find God

red-eyed

and in good-humored form

Ensenada, Mexico

8/73