we flew to Tucson
our son was six months old

arriving deep in night
we cabbed it to the border
when we arrived so did a light rain
we had nowhere to go
till the funeral tomorrow
her brother aye Dios dropped in his field
at 27 field of pepinos his father would squat in
drunk with us men
handle a cuke as i spun in a ditch
after the funeral

so she dialed some saved Nogales numbers
til she woke an old friend, a teacher
who let us sleep with the flies
in his humble home
the cabs wouldn't take us to the town
it's 15 miles away
but the ride takes two hours
the dirt road, you know?
crossings of water
tight turns

how do these things happen?

out of the blue of the morning
an old friend of the family happens by
in a pickup
two hours later we meet the corpse in the wooden box
(her brother is being buried in an old pair of my own pants!)
they've lifted it
started to move from his aunt's hovel
to the church
as we jump from the truck

i was stuck getting drunk with the men
meeting the family
and family and family
i'd soon forget
i nearly passed out in a ditch
thinking of holding mi preciosa
tongue kissing
even talking
those guys sure could drink though
even in the flaming sun
and spoke no English

and the women did women things
quietly flipped tortillas on a grill made from an old oil drum
mashed beans through and through with opaque lard
while i spun in my ditch
and her dad fondled pepinos
whispering near tears to his brothers
but he didn't cry
i didn't tongue kiss her how inappropriate she would have thought
at least the booze kept my dick down

the next day i nearly died
the water, you know?
she went about her woman business
as i shut myself in a room somewhere
with my son six months old