TIJUANA HELD CAPTIVE BY TRAFFIC JAMS
thursday morning
a chill in the air
first beams of sun shining across the world
struggling to ignite the warmth of California,
famous, mythical, fantastic warmth of winter,
chilly high forty-eight, soon to rise
into the fifties and sixtiesf a h r e n h e i t
I live on the border.
Between the earth and sky.
Between the desert and the water.
Between the ocean and the continent.
Between Mexico and the United States.
The dance of power continues here
in Tijuana.
Hawks and eagles are circling
above the airport.
RECENTLY THE
federal forces gave backto the city police
the guns they (federales)
had confiscated when first descendedby aironto the city from tomorrowseveral weeks ago yesterday.Complaints echo in the newspapers that some
of the guns have had parts removed
and replaced by older pieces.The battle between the center (Mexico City, Federales) and the provinces (state, city, police) continues in the black and white and read all over.
that is too simple, and false, there is more at stake here
kidnapping, murder, drugaddiction, corruption, money
always Always ALWAYS money$ $ $ $
and people who have almost had enough of being afraid
who ask why they, not the criminals,
must live behind bars
on their home
windows
and "there" and "then"
(writing) about the lastest wave of federales sent from Mexico City by the new President, yes and....
I saw the police eating tacos at the corner when I came home the other night. Seems like things are almost back to normal. Almost.
But what is "normal?" in Tijuana? Isn't that the question, gringo?
Why are you here, anyway, if not because "normal" in Mexico is magical, different, strange, and yet, highly technical and postmodern, at the same time as medieval and street-vendors wander shouting their wares while internet cafes blossom on the corner. And Tijuana is...
...has always been... the strange and magical side to my/your wonderful normal.
My neighbors. Next door. The city of my step-sister, on the border.
beyond the e d g e
I am home, in a foreign country, twenty miles south of the hills where I passed through my childhood years. Where I was raised, like cattle are, like Nigel said to Carlos fifteen years ago in
the restaurant. Like he said to me, three years ago.
We are all cattle, raised to die cannon fodder
in Tijuana we bite at each other's throat
and eat delicious tacos.today the war in Babylon is the playing field of Eton
tomorrow it will be here
There be pictures everywhere all of a sudden of the red-tide mayor,
excuse me, the "municipal president" of Tijuana,
who for many many years has been boss
owner of all those bookie shops
where you can bet on sports
events and horse races all
around the world satellitewagers Calienteyou can see
them huddled together, desperate
gamblers, chancedrug addicts around
their satellite linked TV screens, or
feeding the video slots in the new gambling hall
right on Revolution Avenue between 3rd and 4th streets
Caliente (the name ofthe ancient, vanished, golden-age casino, only the horse track
remains but they don't run horses there any more, only
dogs and bingo) now themayor is running
un-officially, of coursefor governor of the
state of Baja California.a much greater horserace, indeedCaliente
his exracetrack bodyguard, convicted of moreorless murdering
a journalist twenty some years ago more or less will be getting out of prison
soon m o r e or less the newspapers say his old boss says oh well let justice be done
he can come home work here again the n e w s p a p e r s say
the newspapers say as if you can ever
believe anything that is
written down
noSo just by chance ha ha "there is no casuality only causality" (una poeta at the reading tonight) all those six-foot high, three-foot wide big red ads appearing on walls and fences and bus-stops and kiosks all over town featuring he himself talking to the people about all the wonderful things he, no, I mean the city government, has done his big pretty face gazing out from a sign with a simple little text attached (look, Mom, a poem!)crowing and trumpeting and back-patting
all about it read all about it Martians outside of Los Angelespeople are safer, children have free books, video security cameras are everywhere guarding the streets, thousands of "scarce-resource" people have been served, ("scarce-resource" oh my God what a euphemism for the truth
that as Jesus said "you shall always have the poor with you").
AND IT IS TRUE
HE AND HIS WIFE HAVE
ALWAYS DONE LOTS OF GOOD THINGS
for the poor voters maybe he will be president one day he can but
OF COURSE not a word appears on those signs about him running for governor excuse me he isn't running yet it is only a future le phreak of chance they might nominate him.
But everyone knows he is.
The night he was inaugurated three years ago the crowd was screaming it at him. We heard them, then. It was not a dream. Not even a nightmare.
He has already appointed the man who will take over as stand-in mayor when himself must step aside to "officially" begin his campaign. No. No, Mexico is NOT the United States (thank God and Benito Juarez). You cannot run for one office while serving in another. And no re-election, either. No "grasshoppers" are allowed. Only locusts. There is a name that will stick to him like glue. Assassin is another, even if it is false. Will no one rid me of this damn priest? (Henry II, England/France; Thomas a Becket, Canturbury). No, no one will.
No.
So things are getting back to "normal"
the sweet bitter taste of politics
Ah ha!
OH, and yes, also, another sign of the times they are a changing back to "normal" (and also about the evil of cars): the headline in the newspaper yesterday screams:
TIJUANA HELD CAPTIVE BY TRAFFIC JAMS
afternoon
we still ride along
in bus and taxichoosing the hour of travel
so it won't be too crowdeddown into the center of town
across the riverinto the rectangular maze of old streets from a hundred years ago
when the founders planned the great border city of Zaragosabut it would never lose its
old nameTijuanaor the myth of
aunt Janewho gave delicious food
and serviceto travelers on the road
walk through those square blocks
past the cracked glass
windows full of shoes and leather
boots, hats, belts
the crowded piles of stereos and motorscooters
the twisted ice-cream cones of sweet and cold flavor chocolate, vanilla
gringo in a foreign land next door to your own, raging home power wealth
spilling across the water on a dam
fish flopping in fresh air
no more
cowboys and vaqueros
ranchers and rancheros
boots, hats, belts
go to the Dandy sit down
have a beer then anotherin the corner invisible waiting to see
if David sees you when he comes inno he doesn't
you appear from nowhere
with your beer alreadyhalf empty
talk and talk and talk
until Pancho and Aida come in
and then it's time to gothrough the streets in the back of Pancho's little white truck
to CECUTand the women reading poetry
Olga, Kim, Dolores
it has always been a dream
to read here in CECUT
is an honor
sometidos al fuego
stagger squinted blinded in your rage
our learning space
your verbal switchblade mouthdime si que te respira he podido olvidarte Tijuana resolverles tal vez las enigmas de pan, de vino, y es sabado de sabanas revueltas Mariana, Elizabeth, Amaranta rowing not to drown saves sometimes not giving up saves planning the attack saves sometimes... no melted butter apenas aterrazo aqui en Tijuana con un traila sin frenos para el trailero no basta estar de pie peinar la ciudad diario un rayo de luz entra por mi ventana mientras duermo una ciudad tocada por la luna y su canasta de letras un libro no escrito escribo lo que los peces suenan y claro a lo lejos la parada del comion Las 3 Lunas en fin el pretexto me sobras los ojos del otro mi amigo me dijo un dia que no existe casualidad sino la causalidad ____, ____, Julieta cuanto providencia derrochamos en la lluvia de santos dsde el pozo de mis poemas amo I want out of the ideology of Pop spinning on the world trade center like a top you don't let go my hand exercize me el sonido de un tren cuando se aleja el sabor de los frijoles como se parecen los anos Paty Luci Elia Jennifer ?Que es la violencia? separacion ex violenta se acabo la comodidad tu usas demasiadas palabras la pluma abre la puerta salsa roja servida un batida grandes ojos interrogantes la noche torturada te abandono la suerte te temo invierno pero es inutil abuelos del sur conocidos no mas en viejas fotos vete con tu piel de frio mi tristez no porta huipil que nadie lo recuerdagive me your breath
I cannot forget
Tijuana
Amen. Goodbye.
or well... goodbye for now at least
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