July 2006/Volume Seven/Issue Two
M. Frias-May
Stalking in Juarez

   We all drink
   We all forget
   The border (its bowels its brains)
   The tortilla we wrap it in

   We think the thought a cruel heat allows:
   Another, por favor, and turn up that music
   Something in the streets is hungry and has
   Eaten the dogs, hurry,
   It is clawing the prayer post
   It is bored
   Pissing on every withering tree
   Every white wedding dress
   Fouling every alligator boot

   We are not asleep

   The dead will not help
   The church is locked up
   We wont say the name or
   Peer into the eyes
   Father, brother, son,
   The monster stalks
   Daughter, sister, mother,

   We behave like good neighbors
   Watch for updates on the news
   We pack the battered overnight bag
   Just in case it gets personal
   In the streets of white laughter.
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