El Dorado

He was born down in Chiapas
underneath a mangrove tree
where his papa blessed the virgin
as he washed him in the sea

he mended nets at four and five
by six was in the boat
helping papa chase dorado
through the reefs he knew by rote

but the mangroves grew into hotels
and the boats got bigger, faster,
and the palm trees stretched up from behind
black bars and boards and plaster

So they slipped through Arizona
and they got to Colorado
working side by side with papa
always dreaming of dorado

They bought a van and followed
as the crops grew ripe and ready
sending what they could back home
though the schooling was unsteady

He learned to cook in Texas
to lay brick in Tennessee
how to keep a dead van running
how to trim and crown a tree

and when the time had come for him
to finally bury papa
he made good on what he promised
and returned him to Ixtapa

His sisters wept and kissed him
filled his belly with asado
and cerveza and ceviche
for their jefe, of dorado

He took long walks in the mornings
it was like a different town
but the north held nothing for him
so he thought he’d stick around

He found work on a charter
running tourists out all day
baiting hooks and gaffing bluefin
in the salt and sun and spray

and the ocean shone like tarpon
and he felt his papa’s hand
like an angel on his shoulder
every time he left the land

and it came like second nature
reading silhouette and shadow
tell the gringos where to drop it
watch them reel in dorado

He earned a reputation
and he earned a handsome fee
but his needs were pure and simple
just a boat, the sky and sea

and he passed on to his nephews
all the secrets that he knew
stories of their abuelito
until they could feel him too

Then when his breath grew shallow
and the toil took its toll
all his sisters wept and kissed him
and lit candles for his soul

but he’s out in open water
casting nets toward Coronado -
he is drenched in gold and azure
and he’s dreaming of dorado

Dear Hunter

You can come up raisin’ hell, son
six-guns blazin’, pumpin’ lead
but you can’t knock down that barrel
pressin’ hard against your head

and there ain’t no use in cryin’
and it ain’t no use to quit
and the only lie’ll kill you
is the truth you can’t admit

so just play the cards you’re dealt, son
with whatever chips you got
you just draw a breath and draw a bead
step up and take your shot

it’s an old and cold blue marble -
when it rolls around again
drop a live one
in the chamber,
give that cylinder
a spin

There’s a Hole in the Bottom (Thanks BP!)

There's a hole in the bottom of the sea,
There's a hole in the bottom of the sea,
There's a hole, there's a hole,
There's a hole in the bottom of the sea.

There’s a pipe in the hole in the bottom of the sea,
There’s a pipe in the hole in the bottom of the sea,
There’s a pipe, there’s a pipe,
There’s a pipe in the bottom of the sea.

There’s a spill from the pipe in the hole in the bottom of the sea,
Spilling oil from the pipe in the hole of the bottom of the sea,
There’s a spill, an oil spill,
From a hole in the bottom of the sea.

There’s oil spilling from the pipe in the hole in the bottom of the sea,
Spilling oil by the barrels by the hundreds hourly,
Killing men and fish and fowl and legacies,
All the oil, gobs of oil,
From a hole in the bottom of the sea.

There’s an oil slick that’s spreading through the sea,
Floating, sinking, drifting all throughout the sea,
It’s a mess even the astronauts can see,
All the oil, gobs of oil,
From a hole in the bottom of the sea.

There’s a lot of people working for BP,
As their fixes turn to failures steadily,
Fumbling through a circumspect apology,
They don’t know, how to slow,
Oil gushing from the bottom of the sea.

There are people cleaning oil from the sea,
Trying to mitigate unbounded tragedy,
Ask the folks up in Alaska, they’ll agree,
After years, it reappears,
Washing up from a hole in the sea.

There’s a hole in the bottom of the sea,
There’s a geyser spewing up catastrophe,
That’ll easily outlive both you and me,
And I hope we maybe learned a thing or three,
Like not to bore, a well offshore,
And put a hole in the bottom of the sea.

Welcome Back

I don’t know what I expected
having thoughtlessly selected
dusty bottles stuffed with notes
I can scare recall I wrote

from some long ago of shore
tossed them out into the roar
of the ocean, pitiless,
to the whim of her caress -

but she is a funny thing
cannot help herself but bring
souvenirs up from the sand
bits of secrets in her hand

and she giggles at my wonder;
I may break it, pull it under,
deep as darkness if I spurn it;
then again, I might return it.