In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

  • Blind Eye, and: A Demon Meets Papa Cayo on the Road to Mictlan
  • Andrés Rodríguez (bio)

Blind Eye

“Americans serve their countryFor legal residents, not illegal ones.The Constitution says so.Americans got nothin’ against immigrants.Afer all, our great great great greatGreat grandparents came from Europe—The riffraff of Germany, the scum of England,The whackos of Holland and France.They didn’t need papers thenTo come with their laws, big dreams, and slaves,And the natives here didn’t object.They still don’t object.The immigrants from old monarchies—The unwashed, the unclean, the untutored,Pilgrims and perverts alike—They made this country great.Look at the cities, small towns, and highways,The strip mines, warheads, prisons, and billboards,The billboards that say We’re Number One.God bless America.We’ve got it down.Hell, our forefathers had to crossA fucking ocean to get here,Not swim across a river or crawl on their belliesThrough a tunnel drug smugglers have dug(I’ve heard those stories),Or just stroll in late at nightWhile some border guard’s asleep orTurning a blind eye while he countsThe pesos he’s been given.Good fences make good neighbors.A wall is even better.That’s what we got goin’ here.The good neighbor policy.Today even grandmothers worryIllegals spread disease.They say turning a blind eye to illegalsIs spitting in the face of veterans.Too many goddamn hippies already did that.There was this war, you see, against commies in Asia—Little yellow men called ’gooks’Who played dominoes with the world.Or Chinese checkers. I forget.This is why we defend borders.You can’t see borders from space, but they’re there.Immigrants must respect borders.We’d have wars without borders.Of course we got nukes, so to hell with borders.Still, this sacred ground must be defended.Today grandmas and vets work togetherTo rid America of illegal aliens.It hurts their feelings when they’re called ’racists.’Illegals and discrimination don’t go together.You see, Mexicans aren’t brown,They’re not greasers, spiks, or gooks,They’re illegal, they’re alien,They’re un-American.You’re blind if you can’t see that.” [End Page 177]

A Demon Meets Papa Cayo on the Road to Mictlan

Saludos, Cayo, it’s me again,dripping wormy wetnessfrom the earth. Risen!No, don’t run away, amigo.I want to talk, pues,here in the moonlight.Years I’ve watched youfrom between cracksand through glassy lakes,your thin shoesoles liketwo tongues of dust.You’re a pious fellowwith a shifty streak,just like your father,and his, back to Adán.After all these yearsI can still find youswapping trinketscon indios y peladosin the wilds of Zocapu.N’ombre, put awayyour pistola. Beholdthis light behind my eye.You can cross yourselfbut can’t drive me awaylike a ghost hauntingdead husks of corn.Go on, call your saints,eat your words and letters.My names have power, too:Diablo. Chamuco. Pingo.Satanás. Lucifero. Xolotl.I spread fire with this eye.My houses are next tochurches—when I yowlit’s hard for men to pray.We demons choose whento turn wishes to doubts,madden the taste of desire,and appear in half-lightto inhabit each of you.We’re busy every day,unlike Boss Juan who’salways eating pan dulce,drinking pulque, absentfrom the wretched land.We break our necks justto sow a little discontent.And what an effort tobore into dreams, givingyour waking hours fits!It’s all a dog can doto tear out your throat.Won’t you tickle my chestor scratch behind my ear?I see you’d rather notas I am smelly and hotfrom all the filth and firethrough which I’ve trod,dogging your heels.I’d like to talk more,but I must slip a stranger’shand in a child’s, and spita little rain to cover...

pdf

Share