A Puerto Peñasco Specialty

We made love in the hot little room
of La Roca, #12
(where Al Capone stayed)
then bandaged your knees
and walked down to the beach.
We were both so happy you could walk again
almost normal
instead of like Frankenstein
after all the zombie pills
and 3 years of hell.
We sadly shook our heads no
at the peddlers who came around,
laughed at the Mango Loco
and the guy dressed up like a skeleton
because it was 6 hours
till Day of the Dead.
We waited for Pepe and Judit.
We knew they’d find us in the crowd.
Pepe brought a sack of goodies
like a trick-or-treater
and we all sat on the sand
eating fried grasshopper and bologna sandwiches
and fighting off the spooks
while the candied orange
sun pressed
into the cling-wrap sea.

Hermosillo Blues

Suegra, my mother-in-law,
was pissed the water bill was so high
so she didn’t pay it
and the city turned the water off.
Now Suegra and the kid and whoever else might be there
have to come over to our place next door
to use the bathroom and take showers.

Then yesterday the gas was somehow left on
on the stove and when Suegra went to light it
it exploded
and hurled her into the wall.
The oven door popped open and got her in the knee
which is all swelled up.
The force broke two windows in the house
and all four grill covers went flying
one of which we can’t find anywhere.
Natalia and Adriana took Suegra to the hospital
where she had an anxiety attack
but they gave her a shot and some gel on her leg
and she’ll be fine,
they say.

Me and Ubaldo put cardboard over the broken windows
where they will probably stay
since no one has any money for new panes
and Suegra is afraid to turn on the stove
but she can’t come here to cook
because we don’t have a stove.

Now Natalia has taken Suegra downtown
to put some money on the water account
because without water
human beings have a tough time.
Far as the stove goes, she’ll just have to
face her fears.
I think the stove is functioning properly
and it was one of the little brats
who turned on the knobs without anybody knowing
and left them on and that’s how Suegra
got exploded.
But she’s hesitant to go near it and I can’t blame her.
The same thing happened to my sister-in-law Sofia’s stove
some years ago.
Her eyebrows and eyelashes got burned off.
Yesterday, Sofia dropped off her 4-year-old niece
for Suegra to babysit
and that’s who I think turned
on Suegra’s stove knobs
when nobody was paying attention.
Sofia left her niece with Suegra
and went out to eat
with a married man who lives
in Los Marisoles
and is rumored to be mafioso

but I’m not going to touch
that ticking time-bomb
and anyway everyone needs
a little affection
before the whole enchilada goes kablooey.

Notes from Hermosillo

These are my poems
and I will put into them
the things that please me

***

My hand shakes
as I draw my mother
from memory

***

Mexican clown juggles limes on a unicycle
in front of my car at the red light
coins in the console burn my fingers

***

Sushi delivery guy
curls his motorcycle between cars
jumps onto the sidewalk like a dolphin

***

Spider webs in the ceiling corners
hammocks for exhausted moths

***

Book of Mexican history
on my table
shrouded in the ash of menthols

***

Last night’s dreams are lost
my mind keeps secrets from me

***

Hum of the fan in the dire heat
I dream of tires on the road
wind in my hair

***

I can’t remember the last time it rained
in the morning my pillow
soaking wet

***

There’s a Royal wedding in England
hot damn
break out the China

***

I walk through the dump
stand in the smoldering garbage
cleaning my eyeglasses

***

The street, the soccer goal net,
your eyes
all empty on Sunday morning

***

I dream my head is split open
right on top
and it’s raining

***

I take a shot of Bacanora
and an emerald tablet
to rise above the miseries

***

Listening to The Art of War audiobook
narrator’s voice so soothing
I fall asleep

***

A bird lazily flaps its wings and lifts
melancholy as a Blaze Foley ballad

***

I do jumping-jacks in the yard
like when I was in jail long ago
the world goes up and down

***

I do jumping-jacks in the yard
I’m on a deserted island
trying to signal a boat on the horizon

***

I water the squash
try not to worry

***

Is there humor
in an untroubled life?

***

I’m not a germaphobe
I’m the opposite of a germaphobe
I’m a germ that’s afraid of people

***

People who live in sea towns
rarely go to the sea
unless it is their job to go

***

I walk circles in my yard
to sweat out the impurities
everything that happens has happened before

***

I flatten empty beer cans
in the morning
wipe the slate clean