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five hundred thousand Pairs of shoes |
walk |
every day
|
beyond the better angel lanes of
|
your | |
smoking traffic |
through this place where |
one world Ends |
and Another begins |
at the last mission bell |
|
& iron border plaque |
LIMITE DE LOS ESTADOS UNIDOS MEXICANOS |
And |
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so now |
|
you have crossed over |
to |
walk |
between these long walls | of public art |
touristic information | stinking telefonos |
customs aduanos |
& something | Mexican mural |
struggling |
to be born | autochthon |
in a brain on two | Mother tongues |
Go up to little green Men |
with Guns
|
waiting under their sunscreen tent shade |
for custom inspection |
in front of this |
painted | wall |
|
They ignore |
the passing crowd | until one catches their eye |
|
and then |
Anything to declare ? |
|
Welcome to México. |
Push the button | check your bag |
|
or backpack |
or not |
waved on |
through the | crack |
|
between |
|
This world |
and the |
|
N e x t
|
hurry | hurry | hurry |
no one reads anything here on |
a path devised to divide and conquer |
before reaching History corner |
we must all reap the dust of |
explorers Indians missions |
rancheros tourists workers |
|
& Beggars |
who have crawled in |
between their metal bars |
bloody stumps pleading they |
only need enough now to get back home |
|
to Guadalajara |
|
or wherever |
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but n o |
|
y o u |
rush past tossing coins at |
the ghost of that missionary |
who walked all the way up from |
Mexico City with ulcers on his legs |
to conquer California for Spain |
Junípero Serra |
thank God |
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it's all over |
one last turnstyle or the other |
bending you around |
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and around |
unto release on public street |
at the Island of Tacos |
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beyond the |
|
Sea of Taxis |
who call |
you to ride |
|
ride |
Ride .
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