Over the Borderline

Christmas Across the Border A Christmas trip to Arizona Laughing and joking our way Across the desert on a bus A happy and joyous affair Would soon turn into a nightmare Tucson lights at night Sinaloa so long ago It seems... But only the day before Our broken navidad dreams A lone toddler’s shoe Sits on the roadside A single sad sole That tells the tale Of a hurried escape Just ahead of the law With sirens screaming And searchlight beams That blind and shatter Our holiday dreams Broken down bus Southbound lanes La migra licking their chops The officer frowns The cruiser slows down And quickly comes to a stop Checking our papers He lets out a sigh His face is blurred Through my only good eye A scar runs down my cheek From hairline to chin The officer thinks I'm a freak I can tell from his ugly grin My wife carries our son Almost the age of three Born with only one arm A

Farwestern  Photo by Gregg M. Erickson Mexico '78 Yuma dust storm Middle of the night Mexicali dirty pool Somehow a welcome sight Bursting bottles of Jarritos Back of a Ford pick-up truck 400 more miles of heat “Sorry kids you’re out of luck” Very soon the Sea of Cortez Port of Guaymas noxious fumes Diesel and dead fish The coast of Baja… Seems like a distant wish Load the truck on the ferry In several disorderly lines Ignoring our query “Why is it taking so much time?” Then the rough seas Belching ferry stack A sneering squad of MP’s A mid-meal vomit attack Santa Rosalia Starch white buildings Quiet and clean White hot streets Baja beaches gleam Playa Santispac A collision of desert and sea Primitive campsite No place we’d rather be Nights spent under starlight Days on our own private beach The cabana a beautiful sight Rest of the world out of reach Powerful childhood memories Don’t seem so

El Fayuquero A Mexican picker heading south In his overloaded truck and trailer Mattresses and tricycles Microwaves and kitchen tables Check off the list a car battery Couches and jumper cables Un Fayuquero heading home Back to his shop Across the southwest he roams Picking at every stop Scavenging American junk piles Shopping at the thrift stores Combing the swap meet aisles Fighting the picker wars In all the little desert towns Blasting winds and dusty roads Enduring the ugly frowns As he secures his unsteady loads Con cuidado , doing 55 on the freeway Bikes teetering on top of chairs Packed pickups towing other pickups Packed to the gills with household wares Flower adorned crosses stand out In the trucks one flickering headlight But the man knows without a doubt… He’ll be in Nogales by midnight Unlike his amigo Miguel Antonio Pedregon-Baray A fellow fayuquero whose cross is nearby His wreck left goods scattered all over the roadway As he d

Working the Line (the Mexican) Sitting on a street corner South of the border His house many miles south Looking for something to eat Anything to put in his mouth Gone are the days of trabajo Sweat pouring from his brow From building the supermercado To the days of skinning a cow (the American) Well north of the border An American sits on a bench Unable to pay his child support order His fists beginning to clench Let go from the factory Whose chimneys continue to steam Replaced by cheap labor By those chasing the American dream (the laborer) Knowing they think I come cheap I sit on this corner still resolute Across the border are riches to reap Such are the wages of this dispute (the disillusioned) I traded a bar stool for this old park bench With the flurries of November starting to swirl I can live with my girl if needed in a pinch Consternation abounds in this socialized world My beat up old Ford now transports fifteen illegals Be they landscap