I am the tin man.
My snakeskin boots
clop and clap and echo
on the manure stained
cobble stone of
San Miguel de Allende.
el salvador

My forearms are huge an hairy.
My tequila bottle holds only
two swigs.

One for my mamacita
and one for my pinche padre.
I have a pistola on my hip
and a roach in my pocket.

Here I am padre,
at the gates of the parochia.
I have my sin on my hip
and my shame in the pocket.

In your hands I am a slave
on the guilded spires of judgement.
On the street I meet my ghosts
with bullets.