Conquistadores on the wall of an ex-hacienda
Futilely ducking through doors
Skirting the trellis in your high heeled heels
Slipping on the sixteenth century flagstones
Worn by water and so many bodas
But Toby takes the fast lane
Engine purring like some dread bambi
Pasted to his forehead is the note
Some hours later it dawns on him
And the detectives and calligraphy people
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO NARCOS IN OUR TOWN
Thunderclouds smoking off the high sierra
And at Chucho's you can get a real bearclaw
We ate them under the big plastic mouse
Two men in two trucks watched at a distance
Your speech from the end of the table
Stylized vowels, preterite fricatives
Glass flutes of orange juice and spritzer
Golf clubs jiggling free from the back of the Audi
Toby forgot to set his mobile to silent
In a dresstaurant in Polanco we ate fish minilla
Drank Pabst or whatever really
Slept in his gear in a skate park off Reforma
Under the mirrorhide tick off the skyscrapers
Tackle from the scaffold that swayed in great silence
3 am a rag hit the sidewalk like a pickle-colored pigeon.
Runningboards piped with three colors of mud now
On the run out of Calchi the highway dips onto the beach
Where the mothers are kept in aquamarine opulence
Straddling the safes like live bait for big fishes
Sign on the house FORECLOSED BY ORDERS OF THE
Micheladas from a palapa and mackerel on cranberry paper
Old man in a hat at the end of his cowboying
Rides a jurassic era fingerlake astride a silent pony
Undiscovered country off the scree of the county shoulder
Gone from our vision.
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Colin Gee is founder and editor of the Gorko Gazette. His latest novel is Robinson Crusoe Maybe with Urban Pigs.