Mexico

by Robert Hass

I have just crossed the Rio Grande,


And by a string of clever switchbacks


Have, for the moment, outwitted the posse.



Ahead lie the ghosts of Sierra Madre.


Behind, I have nothing but sun,


While the condor's shadow circles over my bones.


Though the mountains are steep, my horse doesn't falter,


And now I know why starving bandoleros


Will never shoot their animals for food.



Beyond my mirage, I see the white adobe—


Yes, the one with the red-tiled roof—


Which one afternoon I will lean against, with my hat down


And knees up, after a bottle of tequila.



In that siesta, I am sure to dream
Of the lovely senorita


Who has stolen away from her father


To meet me in the orchard.



But enough of that. There is work to be done.


I have cattle to rustle and horses to steal


Before the posse picks up my trail.


(In a poem of Mexico, it would be unwise
For a poet to mention the posse is his wife.)



So, mi amigo, if you find her


Prowling my mountains


With a wooden spoon in her hand,


Tell her I am not here.


Tell her I have run off
With Cormac McCarthy and Louis L'Amour,

That I ride like the wind


To join up with the great Pancho Villa.

"Mexico" by Robert Hass, from Counting Thunder. © David Robert Books, 2008. Reprinted with permission.