They Call Me Güero: List 3

There,
on a thick limb
of the mesquite tree
just outside my window,
perched the biggest lechuza
I have ever seen, a bone-white
screech owl with inky black eyes
and demon-horn tufts high on its head,
which swiveled toward me at that very moment.

That's when I saw it,
silhouetted against the curtains
of the west window,
the one with no blinds at all.

BALLAD OF THE MIGHTY TLACUACHE

The big opossum clambered down
the knotted old mesquite;
as night had fallen thick and dark,
it was now time to eat.

BALLAD OF THE MIGHTY TLACUACHE

The big opossum clambered down
the knotted old mesquite;
as night had fallen thick and dark,
it was now time to eat.

But then he caught the briefest whiff
of evil scents as well—

The prowling cat, his nemesis!

Opossum bared his pointed teeth,
and curled his agile tail:
A growl began deep in his chest
soon rising to a wail.

Reluctantly, it strolled away
from where the corpse lay sprawled.

Reluctantly, it strolled away
from where the corpse lay sprawled.

But once the night was dark again,
that big opossum moved.
With nimble hands and agile tail,
he searched the trash for food.

Before too long we're in the lead.
The other fans now boo and scream
and then a sickening chant commences
horrible words that beat at our senses.

Heads held high, they struggle to win
despite all the hatred, despite all the din.

Everyone I know
speaks a different Spanish:
The rural twang of border folk,
the big-city patter of immigrants,
the shifting mix of Tex-Mex.

Everyone I know
speaks a different Spanish:
The rural twang of border folk,
the big-city patter of immigrants,
the shifting mix of Tex-Mex.

Mom's Spanish flits around
like a hummingbird—
a fast and frantic blur of color
delicate dancing perfection.

Mom's Spanish flits around
like a hummingbird—
a fast and frantic blur of color
delicate dancing perfection.

I hear the echo of their calls
when I speak.
My own tongue
is an aviary.

We're gathered
in a chapel
in Apodaca
right outside
Monterrey,
dressed formal
for just this once
as the priest intones
such serious words.

Vows exchanged,
rings fitted tight,
the novios kneel
on little pillows
and get lassoed
with lazos of love.

Then caravan
to a reception hall
for the real draw—
la pachanga.

Then I stay in my seat
to watch my aunt
and new uncle dance
El Vals de Novios,
which isn't a waltz
but is beautiful
all the same.

Pregnant with me, Mom was watering plants
when a scrawny puppy crawled its way
to her feet and just lay there,
like it was surrendering at last.

Together we explored el barrio
y el monte, walking all the way down
to the resaca and back again,
a boy and his best friend.

Her brown muzzle was showing white
when I entered middle school,
but I figured we still had many years.

Mom prefers her compact sedan,
great gas mileage, low emissions,
just enough room for her three kids—
our dad can squeeze in too.

Mimi has her black Oldsmobile.
"Like a hearse," she morbidly jokes.

Mimi has her black Oldsmobile.
"Like a hearse," she morbidly jokes.

Dad opens a beer,
sips and douses rebel flames.

We put on some jams,
sometimes relatives arrive
bringing drinks on ice,
wolfing down quesadillas.

Happy fellowship
fills the air with smoke and laughs.

Smiling, I say a quick grace,
then everybody digs in.

He has taught me so much,
shared the comics he collected
when he was a boy,
showed me how to hammer a nail,
fire a gun,
treat others with dignity,
be a man.

So Teresa relents
though with one firm condition:
"I want Güero to play
when the band strikes up my waltz."

Each day on my accordion
I practice that stately tune
while Teresa rehearses
the intricate steps,
the elegant moves.

Each day on my accordion
I practice that stately tune
while Teresa rehearses
the intricate steps,
the elegant moves.

It's quiet here except for the hushed flow of the river
and the hum of bugs answered by the sharp trill of birds.