4TA & CONSTITUCIÓN
Taxis sweep to the corner
disgorge their passengers .
Street vendors pass under
sweet burdens cryingun dollar diez pesos el packete .Half a block away men wait
before Madonna's strip bar .
Blind beggar on this corner
leans close to warn yoube careful, señor, aquí hay ladroneslike London, Paris, New York, Madrid,
you've hit the big time, Tijuana, when
- here there be thieves -
might be written on street
corner edges of old maps .
This is terra incognita of your soul
- write it down, poet - if you dare
record that hidden threat where
crowded evening scurries past
running from work, office, shop,
cantina, store, hotel, factory, bar
where everyday self just wants to go
home home to
safer land beyond police spotlights
promised paradise far from bar door
yanking - jalando - at sidewalk clientscome on in take a look gotta lottaBut no. No siren call. You
pretty women dancing just for you !
don't go in, street scribbler,
and won't go home, either .
You insist on measuring
the land from outside, like
Cortés spying out secrets
paper and pen vulture
perched on taxi bench
beside TELNOR pay phone
where one then another
native places their calls to a third
and equally unknown world .