From the Compilation “The year of Living Dangerously”
By John Thomas Dodds
que pasó
The wonder
no longer passes through here
the absentee landlords
of your uniqueness
disembark,
assemble your wives and children
into cadres of convenience
satisfied
they return to their corporate havens
in the fat and familiar
It leaves one looking
for answers elsewhere
& elsewhere it is
I felt sorry for Paso Del Norte
the portal to the American Dream
for those who loved her
witnessed the foreshadowing
of dry wells
and a Rio of pain
between the heart
and soul of a desert flower
ripped apart.
¿que pasó? mi amiga
so much la señora
letting the Frocks and Gringos
spoil your sunshine
suck the nutrients
from your once proud breast
for centuries you watched
the rape of your children’s playground
your men passive, autocratic,
scavengers of the visitors waste:
half shells
neatly spread on a bed
of economic promise
There were pockets of complaint
when I knew you
sticking their heads up
when the buffet was served
and bowing when three syllable words
complimented their perceived
rise above minimum wage.
No one got angry—
the sky dyed Asarco grey,
the water table turned to dust
the foundation of your name
crumbled under the onslaught
of nations vying for temporary
possession of your soul.
It used to be
you could shit anywhere
and nobody noticed.
Left alone,
everyone eventually
got used to a common odor.
Fifty years have passed.
The past remnants
of a time of innocence:
mountains, sunshine, desert
linger in the mind—
music, Mexico,
and sweetbread memories
are all that remained
until that is
today
Bienvenidos!
No longer hangs on the entrance.
The welcome mat a concrete slab
where Niños y Madres
reach out to one another
separated by a Trumped up
aversion to the other—
and a wall of hatred stands
where El Paso del Norte,
the pass to the promised land,
is temporarily out of order
while Lady Liberty
is blindfolded
