Over the Borderline

Empty Bases Gone is the crack of the bat The roar of the crowd The rounding of third Collisions at home The pause of the ump The dust in the air A fastball in the back Pine tar Stolen signs Pick-off plays Oh, how we long for… The good old days Gone is everything: From missed tags to rosin bags From outfield speed To sunflower seeds Everything from ticket fees To the suicide squeeze From screaming comebackers To ball flight trackers Missing is the bunt single Dropped in the perfect place The creaky-kneed catcher Taking one off the face Pitchers with blisters Home run hitters And 23 hoppers That find their way through An infield that shifted Or that little blooper Perfectly lifted Absent is the groundcrew Always raking, spraying And cleaning up chew Absent are the workers And all the fans that we knew Lemonade like Gramma made Hot dog man in mid-bark Cotton candy and churros Everything h...

Muralism: Portraits of Phoenix Work by Angel Diaz -- 1st Street south of Jackson -- Phoenix, Az Murals are more than an art form, they are part of the lifeblood and fabric of the communities in which they are painted. Whether their locale is a barrio or a newly gentrified neighborhood, murals paint a picture of struggle, culture, history, politics, and activism. They are an outlet for the oppressed, a conduit that connects people from various walks of life, they are a link between the past and present, they are at once a symbol of protest and a beacon of hope for what a unified community could look like. Murals in Mexico predate the arrival of the Spanish conquistadors in the early 16 th century. Much like paintings on cave walls, murals were a communication tool for the illiterate masses. They depicted images of the gods, warriors, animals, changes in seasons, life and death. One of the immediate difficulties the Spanish faced upon their landing in Mexico was the lan...

Intermountain High In a Hemingwayesque trope I write of the Intermountain West From the basin and range To the Trans Mexican Volcanic belt Of the Great Basin And the Colorado Plateau The Continental Divide Or Sonoran desert snow Intermontane sky islands bereft Of city dwelling criminals and theft Upper range thrust In geologic striations I trust From the steppes to the Shrub land biome Seeking open range And a place to call home Subduction zones and shifting plates Life along the Ring of Fire Pacific Ocean burning Pushing Andes higher Coast of Chile churning Massive land forms I desire Escarpments come to mind Although Death Valley is fine Slot canyons beckon We are so small in their presence And that's the thing, I reckon I feel shallow between every fault Feel uplifted by every rift The Grand Staircase to the Painted Desert From Volcan del Fuego to the mighty Sierra  Pico de Orizabe to my own backyard Lo...

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...

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...