7.1.06

Me and the Messicans


ODE TO ESPERANTO

Towards the box canyons
towards El Paso, we headed.
A bluebird with a Cuban
at the helm, flagging and flagging
swaying in the waves of wind
through camino, beyond
the back window mystery
unfolding, missed our chances so far.
Missed them all. One after the other
beckoning, sirens bellowing
in our wake as we charged on.
Todos ventanas son abiertos,
all the wind and sky coming in.
Fresh from tests, champions
of La Cucaracha y domingo.
I have hunger we said,
yo tengo yo tengo,
not I am, tu tengas
informal but not to Havana,
with all her cautions
against revolution, no!
Fidel was not our savior!
No soy la isquierda,
cierran las ventanas, cierran!
Yo soy de Cuba, yo soy
not this, yo soy aqui con ustedes,
yo soy de Coobah.
De donde aqui? De donde?
circa de eso, eso es mujer,
usted es de Cooba, yo soy Margarita...
When at last we held tight
from the momentum, the pummelling
winds para el camino, east from iglesia San Xavier
del Bac that dropped us like sand
through the funnels: plip plop plip plop
through the stiles: chink chink
past all the kachinas and fast running
phoenixes, the sands of Hohokam in tiny glass jars,
casa grande with his ancient clocks
abandoned, wholly abandoned and al dentro
awestruck antes de the curled up squaw,
her curled up baby, the curled up stones
of the two of them, Dios Mio!
Que triste! Que bien!
Porque no abierto sus ojos?
"Porque yo no tengo hambre, no tengo
nada o nadie o nunca,
todo es fin." Despues,
they found her, an illusion,
sold her bones for the dineros.
Vieja, circa de las otras:
no cuerpo, no vestido, no hay nada.
A dimestore injun with painted-on eyes.
Nuestras profesora a long way from Cuba.
Viva la raza!


*Some explanation is in order here. That is border Spanish and Esperanto of course is the universal language. Root word: Hope. Cuba? That is the Cuban refugee named Ines Bidot (peace on her wherever she is or isn't) my high school Spanish teacher who insisted on Castillian.

Her hair was always done exactuly the same way...swept into a graceful bun to the back of her head. Her stockings never had runs in them and of course, she didn't like Castro very much nor revolution. I was her star gringo pupil and we went on a journey to the state championships...me and a bus full of Messicans. On our way home we stopped off to see the famous tHiNg. What is it? Ah...what was it the better question. Seems it was a fake Injun mummy, a squaw with her mummy baby clenched tightly in her arms. The tourist attraction was sold after I saw it that day and what I saw was a real mummy but now most people say it is a fake. Wonder where that mummy went and I wonder where Miss Ines Bidot is now?

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