River Crossing

Early morning’s
buzzard on the wind,
       Day of the Dead

Two dollars to rowboat
the Rio Grande, blue doors
       in old Mexico

Buying the street vendor’s
enchiladas, chickens
       scratch dirt

A single firecracker
pops in the dust; stray dog’s
       flight of fleas

Cowboy with a tin guitar
sings Garth Brooks: eye on his
       jar of pesos

Unfolding an oiled rag
from a pistol, Pancho Villa
       he whispers

Returning by twilight,
coyotes in shadows
       behind the garbage bin

*

Al Ortolani