on ixtle rope.

On his next call,

I offered to organize

a collection if he would

leave hospital details

in my mailbox.

But he forgot.

His lung was cured

by the next week.

His voice as well,

miraculously

restored.

Then he came

with only his unnamed

need and no story.

I had no change

except five hundred pesos,

which the bank machines

dispense like PEZ

to extranjeros like me.

Hard to find anyone,

humble or lordly, willing to

part ways with smaller currency.

I gave him what I had then.

Five hundred pesos, but

this brought him back

swifter than a swallow.

Sometimes twice

within a week,

enough to raise my ire

and blow my Buddhahood.

Back and back again he came.

Calixto said he knows him

as Martín, who leads the

donkey for the wedding

callejoneadas.

He looks like no party

host to me. Scraggy

as a cat. Thin mustache,

the kind pranksters

add on the Mona Lisa.

Dirty newsboy cap.

Glass shards for eyes.

Clothes borrowed, perhaps.

A Chekhov peasant, not

pandemic-unemployed. Or,

maybe victim of his own

vices. Who knows?

Sometimes he raises hell

when I refuse to answer,

ringing my brass bell

like the San Juan de Dios church

calling forth the faithful.

As if the schoolhouse is on fire.

I gave him once

one hundred pesos.

Then one weekend I had

no change at all but fifty.

He seemed to agree on this price.

Now he nods in gratitude,

and I apologize for sending

him running after money

when the wind has fun.

Saturdays,

or sometimes Sundays,

when he knows Calixto isn’t

here, he comes.

And so, with time

this is how we’ve settled

on what’s fair.

I can imagine how

hard it is to be him,

how hard to ask.

Today I sent him

with his weekly share.

Surprised him.

Surprised myself

by saying

for the first time—

“Cuídese, Señor Martín.”

Swallows, Guanajuato Airport

At home in the “o”

of GUANAJUATO,

golondrinas.

Cielo sin sombrero

Voy a vender

el cielo San Miguelense,

este azul jacaranda

que queda tan bonito

junto a los techos de barro.

Seguro que está a la venta.

Por supuesto que sí.

Ya que aquí

Se Vende,

Se Alquila,

Se Renta

todo.

Monte,

memoria,

río,

mujer,

historia,

ajonjolí.

El cielo lo venderé

a rebanadas.

Y a los extranjeros

les cobraré el doble

por doblar

el costo de la vida.

¡Atención!

Se vende un cielo sin sombra,

este cielo celeste al que tanto

le hace falta un sombrero.

Y,

si me inspiro

y me va bien,

Alquilo Nubes

también.

Sky Without a Hat

I’m going to sell

the San Miguel sky,

this jacaranda blue

that suits perfectly

clay roofs.

Of course, it’s available.

Absolutely and for sure.

Here everything is

For

Sale,

Rent,

Lease.

Mountain,

prickly pear,

hacienda,

stone,

woman,

mud.

I’ll sell sky

by the slice.

Charge foreigners

double

for doubling

the cost of living.

Attention!