how late does ya’ll go till

blasts from Baja Mexico college bar...

hot booze loaded guitar hoops seeping through stormy throngs,

smoke trails and dog whistles breaking down choruses of laughter,

with patrons positively glued to this oasis

better to return to the dive where the border begins

so tune down those electric blasts

go paste your favorite Villa portrait on the wall,

yell for la cuenta over the gold toothed matchstick strikers

crouching behind secret brick dark walls where Amerika hides,

we may have walked into and found the prison camps at last

where tequila is served instead of bread, water, and tranquilizers

stutter blinking fake smiles and grab a ride-

hey, who’s getting high now?

do ya know what time the sister’s scheduled to come flyin in through this broken doorway?

hey, we want your sister!

sick of getting molested by dark bearded white trousered tourists!

hey, where’s that real feel good?

where’s that cross-eyed bartender with the goods?

when’s that promised romantic night?

anyway, better tell me bout the jail scene:

“so two days ago

beat

fagged out

stretched over, then

slapped inside a cold room cell”

"3 days still in jail, this a true story now man,

can’t get out,

bruised head to hand-

no way out

no phone call

so I yelled…”

“later hocked my surfboard in time to scribble this down…see, here’s my ticket of verification…”

Multa: para infracion al bando de policia y buen gobierno…”

"finally out free now…

“yow-ee!!!” he say…

then I say:

"please don’t kick down the gate when you leave"

later back in San Diego

where my income tax return lay glowing in the bus locker,

no more to roam

where the hell’s home?

1974, Hussongs, Ensenada, Mexico