Over the Borderline

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...

Pinche Pemex Station Beneath the rusted awning Of a sweltering Pemex station Where the stench of spilled diesel Mingles with exhaust... and sanitation Little relief from the heat 250 miles and no water to spare No place to retreat But a Pemex station so foul of air A mixed blessing it was When it was just over the horizon Not so much now... because They have no gas for the Datsun No refrigeration for the Topo Chico Whose cases sit full in the sun No toilet paper in the banos But that hasn't stopped anyone Cacahuates Y churros Are sold in the lot By Damas on burros Whose nostrils blow hot... Air so vile and fumes so strong Tempers are flaring, nerves set to fray Being told "it wont be long... Maybe tomorrow, maybe today" Stranded with roaches and rodents Scorpions and snakes Struggling with your Spanish While a roadkill carcass bakes Then a wall of dust Rushing with sound The color of rust Billowing and brown Gets dirt in your nos...

Mi primera poema en Espanol (My first poem in Spanish) Una poema corta Criatura del Partido En un estadio en Durango Escorpion espera en una silla Por los aficionados Por los juegadores de futbol El partido empiezo El ruido del tambor "Ole," alegria y amor Por el equipo Durango Animan los ninos Un partido excitante Pero el escorpion espera A la sombra del poste En la seguridad de la red Espera por el final El deseo un estadio vacio El no gusta futbol Pero gusta silencio En el estadio La catedral de las criaturas Jesse A 1/17/12 A Short Poem Creature of the Game (English) In a stadium in Durango A scorpion waits on a seat For the fans For the futbol players The game begins The noise of a drum "Ole," joy and love For the team from Durango The children cheered An exciting game But the scorpion waits Under the shade of the goalpost In the security of the net He waits for the final (whistle) He wishes the stadium empty He doesn't like futbol But he likes silence In t...

El luchador comes in low Both fists flying He's got a thick brow And a crooked nose He means to do damage With the punches he throws They call him El Cañón But his real name is Beto His hands are like hammers His body solid as a tree As the legend has it He was punching at age three But his madre claims: "He was punching inside of me" El Cañón punched his way out Into a world of scorn He won his first bout By just being born Boxing was his fate What God told him to do It's why he fought so hard And could go so many rounds No one could touch him At 140 pounds He never stopped throwing As he punched his way north Through all the tiny towns From Toluca to Tepic Take on the local star Give him a savage beating And then on to the bar For women and drinking Ahora.... El Cañón esta borracho He's fighting again Some clueless muchacho Who thinks he can win Una pelea en la cantina Not a pretty sight Soon bottles are broken And screams fill the night Beto is blee...

Cove girl You wear it so proudly Of this little village Cove girl you curse it so loudly Eyes sparkle like Gulf coast emerald The color of our beautiful sea Blond hair as fine as the sand And tall like a sugar pine tree You grew up wild on this spit of land A dense plantation surrounded by bay Where an array of palm trees fan A place where dolphin come to play The Cove... Home to the eclectic and rouge Who mingle under the ancient oak Listening to a strumming guitar jingle Everyone bumming a smoke Beer cans pile up before midnight Turn to upraised bottles of booze Out on the water fishermen fight While on a starlight angling cruise And the good folks head off for prayers On bended knee at the holy steeple They're just one of the many layers That make up the village of Cove people But Cove girl its you That I know the best It was you that helped me When I was in distress I may not be from around here And who knows how long I may stay Ma...