I feel so cruel

Leaving you behind

With only crumpled currency.

A leather glove of Mexican pelt

Reaches through the window

Into my world.

“I must set boundaries,”

So I tell myself.

I inch across the border

In a metallic time machine headed for a better life,

So I think to myself.

I offer only nickels and dimes

Wrapped with platitudes.

Bashful or embarrassed of your trade

You quickly look away.

Come to think of it,

That was me.

We’re not so different:

You with your babe suckling at your breast

And me with my boy attached to the end of my umbilical cord.

“Dios te bendiga! God bless you!” I whisper in your direction

Like an arrow adding to my quiver of cliches.


Chester Delagneau

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