|Jul/Aug 2003 • Poetry|
I never met a cowboy I couldn't live without,
their sun-dark bluster and hand-rolled cigarettes.
In Saltillo, Daniel tried to change my mind
with cabrito al pastor and eloquent guitar.
I pined for Monterrey, white-coated waiters
and elegant hotels in view of Saddle Mountain.
It's not so difficult to leave rough surroundings
for finer things; ice in my drink, soft white towels.
He offered brown sugar treats and blankets,
gave me all the time in the world to decide.
Does he have a sweet-faced wife now, children?
I peel an orange at my desk, climbing Chipinche.