he told me stories
about living
in a border town
sitting in the harsh sun
sipping cervezas
the dark skinned beauties
in their multicolored skirts
as they walked down
the dusty streets
around him

he made
one hundred dollars
a month
lived like a king
arranging trips
to send mota
across the border
hidden in the packs
of those
brighter tomorrows

until the day
he fell in love
with the capo’s youngest daughter
her brown eyes
sparkled with mischief
her hips
swayed with promise
her tongue
cut like a razor
it was love
at first bite

he would sit
smiling face
like worn leather
cigarette between
his gnarled fingers
staring into the past
he was an out of time
with his mind
on the past
failing body
stuck in the present

One thought on “dusty

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