A cantina in the south
A song bleeds… from a broken speaker
Rice, beans, the smell of cheap beer
And the slow, hot decay of everything
I went out back to the tin shack… to pee an wash the dust away
Through the warped wood… a mother’s voice, I heard her say:
“Not now. Mommy’s working. We will eat… Mañana…”
A promise… hanging in the heat… of another long, empty day
Outside… I saw the mother. Miria. The cantina’s… rose of the gallant life
Surrounded by laughing men… in the failing light
I took her elbow… away from the noise. A simple transaction in my mind
But looking at her face, her lips… her smile…
I longed. I wanted some of that
But I said. “Can I give you money… just for food?”
t’was…a charity… to make me feel kind
But over her shoulder… a boy. His eyes… a shocking, piercing blue
He held his little brother’s hand… in the fading view
And his eyes spoke… without a sound, a prayer to the sinking sun:
“Señor… please… be kind to my mom…”
And my hollow charity… came undone
She said, “Yes. Two hundred pesos.” Her eyes were hard and sure
A price for her pride… a wall to endure
“We can go… to your car…”. The offer, stark and plain
And I said, “No. It’s just… the money.” …to cleanse my own moral stain
In the boy’s eyes he said in my soul, “She works… for our flesh. To make us… live longer”
No matter what the cost… it’s her soul… she bargain
“Please… don’t make her… go darker”
The mirror she held up… was not for my face
It was turned… toward my soul… in the light of that wretched place
And all it reflected… in that grimy, tragic light…
Was a boy’s desperate hope… that his mother… would be safe tonight
That for once… she’d be treated… kind
So I bought a car wash… for two hundred pesos. A fiction for the boys
A lie to spare the man… and muffle the noise
I left town as the sun bled out… on the dirty street
My heart… too weak… to look in Miria’s mirror…
And see my own soul… retreat