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Cowboy Poetry and Western Verse
NO MORE CORRIDOS
John Duncklee
No more corridos
It was fun making them
It was fun composing them
It was fun playing and singing them
But no more
Mexico is gone
America is gone
Money owns both
Drug cartels own both
Supply and demand
America addicted
Cartels supply
Cartels kill all in their way
Their path to untold riches
Driving Mercedes, firing AK-47’s
I am Antonio
Still in Tinaja Verde
No more giros from my work north
Too dangerous
Cartels rule border and beyond
Coyotes command
Cartels own coyotes
Enslave for mules
Not long-eared mules
Mules to smuggle drugs
Border fence a joke
Twenty feet high
Lots of twenty-one foot ladders
Typical Gringo thinking
Fences really don’t make good neighbors
My father drew his map in sand
No need for me to draw
My sons will not go north
Better to toil the milpita I say
A little from farm better than bullets
Tinaja Verde not on border
But Cartels everywhere
The old bus is no more
Collapsed on side of road
Covered with dust from Mercedes
No need for bus now
Nobody leaves
No place to go
All not safe now
Cartels roam everywhere
Nights locked and dark
Sleep but not sleep
Ear always there
Days in field
Always looking, always turning
Fear
Fear brings no joy
Rosa not as happy
But I remember
The times I returned from north
In her arms
New born in my arms
Guitar off the wall
New corrido
I looked up at her smiles and joy
I looked down at adoring children
Eyes wide
I was home again
A way of life
Two countries, north only for work
We knew the pay was low
No matter, better than here
Migra always around, easy to hide from Migra
And when ready for home, free ride to border
But sometimes we were robbed of wages
Some farmers called Migra when crop all in
Migra come and carry us off
Farmer does not pay, all our work free
Why is greed everywhere?
Why some rich farmers steal from poor?
Now the Cartels own the greed
Now the Cartels slay at will
Border a bloodbath
A battleground
Cartel against Cartel
Policia with Cartels
Where is sanity?
Where is peace?
Where is the life we once enjoyed?
There seems no end to pillage and greed
Why must they ruin
Why must they destroy?
Once we had a country
Now it is their country
Why do they ruin what they own?
We must hide inside
What good are our tears?
Tears for the corridos north
Tears for the joy and happiness of life
Who will stop the carnage and greed?
Is America the answer?
Is America the hope?
Their politicos argue
Their politicos think inward
Are they part of the Cartels, too?
I sit here in my father’s old chair
I look at the corn ripening
Ripening over frijol and calabasa
Just as it has always been
Corn, beans and squash
It may not be much in some eyes
But we made it do
Our children grew on what we had
And on what I sent south while on corridos
They grew up. They left
Two work for Ford
The others are in cities
Rosa and I are alone
We worry about our children in cities
The Cartels run rampant in cities
We stopped turning on the radio
I stopped reading the newspapers
We hoe weeds and cook them
We plant our field
We feed the sow
We hope the sow has a large litter
Two to eat and more to sell
The guitar hangs alone and silent on the wall
Dust beneath loose strings
No more corridos.
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