The skeleton with a tan sombrero
copulates with a swollen woman.
There are five houses with broken windows,
behind them a rainbow fence, two mountains.
 
This is a portrait of you together,
the empty houses you have left behind,
the fence between you and the deep river,
the black mountains you escaped to at night.
I still remember you, señor, fondly,
the moribund thief from a shanty town
stalking my family in the dry streets—
who shook the shards of my banjo down
from the red oak tree, as I stood there dazed
behind the house— while at dusk, drunk gringos
licked their lips and mariachis played
double-time around the corner, cantando:
O La Pistola y El Corazón
O La Pistola y El Corazón.