Phantasmagoria in Mexico

cottonmouthed and blurry at dawn

to find my ass hauled to a border

where creatures breathe in open doorways

swinging open to muddy streets

broken cars

stagger past my path

while exhaust streams into the vinegary tasting air

as no one notices

the constant ditches and potholes buried in Spanish mud

and toothy faces

grinning brown and icy from cold water shivers

chatter along in loose lingo

while squealing parakeets

jailed on the calle

desperate for seed

hustle along for another sunrise

dark

dark

Mexico

where a good meal is an offering

where devotees sleep it all off in Iglesia del Carmen

and wake up to find God

red-eyed

in good-humored form

Ensenada, Mexico

8/73