Thursday, June 17, 2010

Mexico

by Robert Hass

I have just crossed the Rio Grande,
And by a string of clever switchbacks
Have, for the moment, outwitted the posse.

Ahead lie the ghosts of Sierra Madre.
Behind, I have nothing but sun,
While the condor's shadow circles over my bones.



Though the mountains are steep, my horse doesn't falter,
And now I know why starving bandoleros
Will never shoot their animals for food.

Beyond my mirage, I see the white adobe—
Yes, the one with the red-tiled roof—
Which one afternoon I will lean against, with my hat down
And knees up, after a bottle of tequila.

In that siesta, I am sure to dream
Of the lovely senorita
Who has stolen away from her father
To meet me in the orchard.

But enough of that. There is work to be done.
I have cattle to rustle and horses to steal
Before the posse picks up my trail.

(In a poem of Mexico, it would be unwise
For a poet to mention the posse is his wife.)

So, mi amigo, if you find her
Prowling my mountains
With a wooden spoon in her hand,
Tell her I am not here.

Tell her I have run off
With Cormac McCarthy and Louis L'Amour,
That I ride like the wind
To join up with the great Pancho Villa.

Please note: photo by aldo c zavala726 on the Kathika website

2 comments:

  1. We were all wild once.....smiles.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I almost wanted to join him - for a while anyway.

    ReplyDelete

Hey, thanks for your thoughts and your time:>)