ten at night.
six or eight of us
piled into a cab
at the san diego
border and headed
to T.J.
the cab was out
of space, so
I splayed myself
across the laps
of my posse
as some Culture Club song
played on the shitty
FM radio. we broke
Mexican traffic laws
all the way to
Revolucion Avenue.
walked
the crowded streets
smelled the meat
cooking on the grills
of the taco carts
drank and laughed
in the shithole
bars along the main drag
Just after midnight, as we ventured
back to our own world,
I hooted at the five dollar
ceramic frogs that sat
like bloated guards
by the border fence
and I stared half-drunk
at the five year olds
who sold the tourists Chiclets
in the exhaust clouds of
the taxi lines.
Moments later, back in
the states,
I remember that
one blonde's arms
around my waist
as we walked to our cars
and as the black
as we walked to our cars
and as the black
shadows below us
inched
inched
their way across
the darkened arroyo.
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