Ciudad de los Perro

San Miguel de Allende
i
Our pastoral tableaux, recounting sheep,
exist on the coyote side of town.
The restoration promised us in sleep
& the awakening to follow dawn

exist on the coyote side of town.
Here, in our cloister, we heard a howling
& the awakening to follow, dawn
crouched in its threshold, darkly prowling.

Here, in our cloister, we heard a howling.
Every doorway sported its Anubis
crouched in its threshold, darkly prowling
its wary streets, night-cobbled abyss.

Every doorway sported its Anubis,
a Cerberus, voicing all its vices,
its wary streets, night-cobbled abyss.
We listened & learned to know its voices.

ii

A Cerberus, voicing all its vices,
the hymns of the hyena & the cur.
We listened & learned to know its voices,
the erudite, the willfully obscure,

the hymns of the hyena & the cur,
the drunken rage, the sober sobriquet,
the erudite, the willfully obscure,
the whine, the baring of the teeth, the bay,

the drunken rage, the sober sobriquet,
the nom de guerre, the elegiac keen,
the whine, the baring of the teeth, the bay.
Junkyard bravado & junkyard chagrin,

the nom de guerre, the elegiac keen,
sounded off our stonework, our façades,
junkyard bravado & junkyard chagrin-
hounded culs de sac, like insomniac gods.

iii

Sounded off our stonework, our façades,
we clutched each at the other’s head, our tired,
hounded culs de sac. Like insomniac gods,
even the most doggedly inspired,

we clutched each at the other’s head, our tired
hackles up, we bit each other’s knees.
Even the most doggedly inspired
poets must earn a closure, make a peace.

Hackles up, we bit each other’s knees.
Centuries, we cast out the carnivore.
Poets must earn a closure, make a peace-
offering piece-meal to the dogs of war.

Centuries, we cast out the carnivore,
our pastoral tableaux, re-counting sheep,
offering, piece-meal, to the dogs of war,
the restoration promised us in sleep.

—

When asked where he is from,
the traveler replies
the high road is his home,
the estuaries, the quays,
the fjords, the friendly skies,
from downtown San Diego
to ethereal Shanghais,
  Et in Arcadia Ego.

Spitting out his gum,
he affably applies
his fixed viaticum;
he pays to supersize
a cheeseburger with fries,
then drives his Winnebago
on to the next franchise,
  Et in Arcadia Ego.

He is the world’s alum,
grandmaster of goodbyes;
he mounts his oil drum,
& starts to sermonize
to breeding bottle flies
on labyrinths of LEGO
blocks & twisty ties,
  Et in Arcadia Ego.

Traveler, shade your eyes,
lest others on your way go
the distance – take the prize –
  Et in Arcadia Ego.