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Scot Dec 2018
A morgue is an unhappy place regardless of time or place.
The somber few that haunt the halls often project the surroundings dreadfully.
While walking the gray tiled rooms it’s known too that we shall one day wear the toe tag.
But mortality gives way to reality and jobs are done with quiet respect for passed souls.

And then there’s the Juarez Morgue...
A hot July day and a drive through Mexican customs brought a meeting with police officials.
A body in their possession, they thought, would bring transportation home.
Calloused officials with shiny gold 45’s aglow, spoke rhythmic Spanish in their police code.

A “******,” said one and this should be fun a ride with those looking more like hit men.
A car loaded with “Madrinas,” in tow and AR 15’s laid in seats in a row.
How odd thought he in a land purportedly free and fright on passerby faces.
Cocky bravado speaking radio slang,
did drive towards the Juarez morgue.

A couple miles out a turn in and out did place them in a neighborhood quiet.
But a familiar smell in a nose did swell, and wonder of how that could be valid.
Putrefaction it was, the odor rose above as the children played gleefully nearby.
How could it be when he could not see the edifice emitting the smell?

A small octagon building, small air conditioners in four windows.
Could it be that this was the morgue?
The desert sun bright and heat overbearing.
My God this is a place of death among many living, what a fright!

The escorts did enter, the detective slowly met the front door.
He was quite pensive when sliding from light to the dark.
His eyes gone black his vision insufficient, as he started to be able to see.
A wet sounding step and a curious glance, did place his feet in crimson water.

Disbelief as the room came into focus, he saw well the visions of what belong in hell.
Bags of bones stacked they were, a femur and skull, the fully decomposed welcomed.
Four porcelain tables and bodies disabled lay upon with nary a stare.
Just shortly behind bodies piled feet high forget a tray or a gurney.

Overcome by it all he began to stall, and try to gather his thoughts.
Rank smell in his nose sent him scrambling for his cigar.
The smoke unable to cover what he did discover, his heart fell hard to his knees.

How inhuman it was to see rampant disregard for the dead.
No scalpels used to cut the Y,
a kitchen knife he could cry.
Sewed up a corpse, with rough twine of course, he regretted where he did stand.
His spine became metal his mind did reel and a new wrinkle appeared on his brow.

On some summer nights when heat fills the air, he does look up to the moon.
His mind travels back to the withering stacks, and the odor still gathers in his nose.
The years have passed by and he doesn’t know why, the memories will not fade.
Restless sleep, fallen heart, many more new wrinkles have taken there place.

A war there has broken out,
and factions viciously ****.
He can’t help but wonder what has happened in Juarez.
The tractors and the bodies they plow.
No building this time a long ditch in the ground scores of people pushed into a long trench.

He walks each day with what he has seen, which cannot be unseen.
Wrestling with himself in the bed, and covering his head.
The dead they do come to visit still.
The Morgue in Juarez left it’s print in the mind of a young fellow.

Indulge the last line if you have some spare time.  Dios bendiga los muertos de Juarez.
True occurrences.
Wayne Wysocki Oct 2018
Mexican moon be bright,
Fill all the stars with light,
Shine down on my señorita;

Mexican mountains high,
Holding the velvet sky,
Sparkle for my señorita;

Mexican hearts be gay,
Bring your guitars and play
Music for my señorita;

Mexican melody,
Say that I'll always be
In love with my señorita.
Copyright © 2018 Wayne Wysocki
Evan Leonhard Oct 2018
En la oscuridad de noche
Las estrellas cayeron del cielo
Las plagas de los Tziztimime
Rabiaron contra el mundo
La tierra tembló
Los vientos aullaron
Los mares se levantaron para consumir todas las cosas
Las personas gritaron con miedo
Pensaron que toda esperanza estaba perdida
Pero Huitzilpochitli los escuchó
Y bajó del paraíso para ayudarlos
Él inmovilizó la tierra
Él calmó los vientos
Él azotó los mares a la sumisión
Entonces él convocó el sol
Y empezó un día nuevo

In the darkness of night
The stars fell from the sky
The plagues of the Tziztimime
raged against the world
The earth trembled
The winds howled
The seas rose to consume all things
The people cried out in fear
They thought that all hope was lost
But Huitzilpochitli heard them
And he descended from heaven to help them
He stilled the Earth
He calmed the winds
He whipped the seas to submission
Then he summoned the Sun
And began a new day
A poem of hope inspired by Aztec mythology. The second stanza is the English translation for the Spanish above it.
Arthur Vaso Oct 2018
Crumble
brothels sprout
flesh peddlers collect their fees
selling daughters
in twos and threes
Lopez or Diaz
lazy or defiant
escaped
in polluted lagoons
the virus spreads

Dancing with the dead
priests absolve the devils
in their mist
Pilar sold her virginity
for a few bars of gold
wrapped in an old ladies hatred
she murdered her vows

Mexico is a land of smiles
the knife only glints
in the Aztec sun
as they bury you
after eating your heart
Pilar Lopez Diaz, thief, day of the dead Acambaro
L Aug 2018
Ayer fui a verte
después de las diez
tu novio portaba su chamarra de universidad.

Somos colegas
mas yo no compré la chaqueta
y de haberme quedado por unos segundos más
le hubiera visto abrazarte
con esa prenda roja del amor que te tengo.
Aa Harvey Aug 2018
Alien Lady


The girl next door to me,
Is an alien I think.
She jumped across the border,
And landed in my street.


She came from Mexico,
And I don’t really know.
But I heard the tale around our way,
That the girl is good to go.


She sits there in the window, with her lamp light on,
Sat at her computer naked, waiting for a download.
The latest rock band and the latest song,
She dreams of them at night when she is all alone.


I love you Mary Jane,
The other guys may think you’re plain.
But I know what your ***** mind is like,
So you know I would never look away.



(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Kathleen Aug 2018
Look at her,
she's remembering when she was native,
when she was Spain,
when she was Mexico
There she is now,
fondly thinking of her future;
the one where she falls into the sea.
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