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2004-02-06 5:45 PM el poema Read/Post Comments (0) |
Mexico
by Robert Bernard Hass (from Agni) I have just crossed the Rio Grande, and by a string of clever switchbacks have, for the moment, outwitted the posse. Ahead lie the ghosts of Sierra Madre. Behind, I have nothing but sun, while the condor’s shadow circles over my bones. Though the mountains are steep, my horse doesn’t falter, and now I know why starving bandoleros will never shoot their animals for food. Beyond my mirage, I see the white adobe— yes, the one with the red-tiled roof— which one afternoon I will lean against, with my hat down and knees up, after a bottle of tequila. In that siesta, I am sure to dream of the lovely senorita who has stolen away from her father to meet me in the orchard. But enough of that. There is work to be done. I have cattle to rustle and horses to steal before the posse picks up my trail. (In a poem of Mexico, it would be unwise for a poet to mention the posse is his wife.) So, mi amigo, if you find her prowling my mountains with a wooden spoon in her hand, tell her I am not here. Tell her I have run off with Cormac McCarthy and Louis L’Amour, that I ride like the wind to join up with the great Pancho Villa. earworm: the Feast of Wire album, Calexico rec: Carol Emshwiller's westerns namecheck: Jack "The Admiral" Womack Read/Post Comments (0) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top |
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