Premiación @ Ciudad Juárez

1.

Tijuana bus station snack bar sign says
Caca-Cola ("turd") bottles twelve pesos.

Laugh, but then buy a cold one in a can.

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2. [Bus to Mexicali]

Evening dark. A truck has overturned – again –
on Rumorosa. So what else is new?

Twisted grade turns to emergency cones
with shortline traffic slowly crawling

by

reaching for Mexicali desert shaken
from mountains across dry lake flats played
out of nothing to mob song pocket radio.

Gas stations, shops and warehouses give way
to tangled city boulevards forever rebuilt.

"Hay quince minutos, pasajeros"
(there are fifteen minutes, passengers).

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3.

Long night of bus knifes across north Baja
California into Sonora.

Extra space to stab at sleep – two seats to
yourself – but wish she were here beside you.

The radio she gave you makes lone excuse
to spend dark hours hunting distant cities.

More leg room than a plane, but still your neck
cramps when you try to sleep without snoring.

Everyone speaks the foreign tongue. Your ears
catch only snatches of Mexican slang.

But that is enough. The honor that calls
you forth garnishes a secret pleasure.

"¿De donde eres? ¿El otro lado?"
(Where are you from? The other side?) Ah, sí.

Why do you go to Ciudad Juárez?
To attend a poetry conference.

You only tell three what prize you've won.

In restaurant where busses stop for breakfast
before her wall of driver photos, one
says her son is an artist, like you.

Answer, writer: "He should enter next year,
they have two contests, art and poetry."

Long night is over and your day begun.

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4.

Highway 2 stretches past dry desert lakes
and sandy cactus valleys between

isolated

stone

peaks .

Then it turns
and twists

into larger
mountain

ranges of
the frontier.

Here, graced with poplars shedding yellow leaves
continent rises to divide where you imagine

waters trickling

west to
Pacific

or east to
Atlantic .

Your bus with typically charismatic
Mexican driver bends swiftly into
his steep curves
hurrying to pass slow trucks.

On the crest, a sign welcomes: Chihuahua

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5. [Agua Prieta]

dusty busses @ side of road
entering town without moving
statue of man stretching arm
fulano politico or other

ice cream truck
beer store
medico 24 horas

frontier warehouse doors
no estacionarse

trucks parked
in back
near
untouched railroad tracks
running straight
from rusty

past maquiladora

tomorrow .

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6.

On the backside of the jagged mountain
west of Juárez, some someone created
an image like an iron age chalk horse .

Hidden behind the border, primeval
superstition welcomes future magic
drawing some ooo & ahh bus passengers .

Or maybe it's just a prophecy that
Mexicans make the world's best horsemen .

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7. [Entering Ciudad Juárez]

Junkyards bloom in the desert. Say goodbye
to open land.

Bits & pieces of cars
concrete shacks
thicker fences
bend the highway .

From the rise of road see a haze of
river green in dry distance: that shine
from water eloquent of fertility .

At this near end of hills, closer view shows
cluttered desert junkyards & factories .

Scrapheap of abandoned police cars destroyed
in vain chase against corruption labled
Compra y Venta de Chatarra
(that is: the buying and selling of trash) –

yet that shimmer of Rio Grande green –
anything for the big yankee dollar .

Yonke = junk . Yanqui = yankee .

You are too cynical, poet. Think of
the jobs these places make! Look from paper
verses, see the irrigated traffic
glorietta sign painted road green :

Bienvenidos A Ciudad Juárez
La Mejor Frontera De México
Maneje Con Cuidado

Welcome To Juarez City
The Best Border In Mexico
Drive With Caution

Ah – there it is ! Coca-Cola factory !
Ssssss... with its ice-red sign, yes....

I'd like to give the world... what ?
Success without trash ?

Stupid dreamer : go dump it somewhere else .

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8. [Old Neighborhoods]

Border heart Mexican megalopolis
neighborhood huddles jowl by wall
streets named for latin american republics.

Walk from Chamizal gate. Elva said
"hay partes..." parts of old Juárez still live.

Eleven a.m. Thursday block houses
wait quiet; residents gone work and school.

Neither poor nor rich. Apartments, homes, shops.
Tepeyac. Honduras. Hmos Escobar.

One corner bldg all red & white brick.
Un melting adobe @ 820.

Calle signs mounted on walls like horseback
guards at each intersection. Street poplars
trimmed practically two meters over
sidewalk; you pass under barely ducking.

"Eminently pedestrian," as planners say.

All that walk you imagine this Mexican
city, map in your head, not in your hand,

and the image for your experience –
only the sun may guide your shadow

west across the heart toward the heart;
it's true what Elva said – old Juárez lives

new. But then you see the gaps in those teeth.
Broken walls. Abandoned homes. Empty blocks.

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9. [Centro Historico]

There are insurance bets and
the limits of time

to assure, and to ensure
your return another time
already again another coming back

2 = 3 . You shall guard the river future.

You, regent of sovereign state, decide your
turning path away from water this trip

feet go Ochoa, Gonzalez, Villa

16 Septiembre on 7 December

and never a trace of infamy

in 2000 nights of dreaming walk you
finally emerge at the oldest core.

It is broad noon, the weather delightful.

Downtown traffic roars lion cage frustration
at pedestrian streets filled with tiny booths.

Shoppers' paradise. Don't bring your car.
Be sure to visit the old misión

three hundred years shall reward you today
with wooden beam roof overhead and prayer

plazas full of mid-day gente
street preacher crying out loud

what is the meaning of navidad

ese

santa rings his bell
beyond

the arches.

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10. [premiación]

a gathering of los cultos
in the ghetto of humanidades

reminds you of Aldous Huxley
gassing the British Museum

wine, sandwiches, music, poetry, art make
speeches, play music, and you each read

two poems

they give you a beautiful plaque
and a cheque

the other poets are so good
you feel better to be chosen

but you miss her, want
her by your side

"did you translate that one?"
they ask.

No, my girlfriend did.

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