El Sonavabitche
Car flowing down a lava of highway
Just happened to glance out the window
In time to see brown faces bent backs
Like prehistoric boulders in a field
So common a sight no one
Notices
Blood rushes to my face
Twelve years I'd sat on the memory
The anger scorching me
My throat so tight I can
Barely get the words out.

I got to the farm
In time to hear the shots
Ricochet off barn,
Spit into the sand,
In time to see tall men in uniforms
Thumping fists on doors
Metallic voices yelling Halt!
Their hawk eyes constantly shifting

When I hear the words "Corran muchachos"
I run back to the car, ducking
See the glistening faces, arms outflung
Of the mexicanos running headlong
Through the fields
Kicking up clouds of dirt

See them reach the tree line
Foliage opening, swishing closed behind them
I hear the tussling of bodies, grunts, panting
Squeak of leather squawk of walkie-talkies
Sun reflecting off gunbarrels
	The world a blinding light
	A great buzzing in my ears
	My knees like aspens in the wind
	I see that wide cavernous look of the hunted
	The look of hares
	Thick limp blue-black hair
	The bare heads humbly bent
	Of those who do not speak
	The ember in their eyes extinguished

I lean on the shanty wall of that migrant camp
North of Muncie, Indiana
Wets, a voice says.
I turn ot see a Chicano pushing
The head of his muchachita
Back into the naguas of the mother
A tin plate face down o nthe floor
Tortillas scattered around them
His other hand signals me over.
He too is from el valle de Tejas
I had been his kid's teacher.
I'd come to get the frower
To fill up the sewage ditch near the huts.
Saying it wouldn't do for the children
To play in it.
	Smoke from a cooking fire and
	Shirtless niños gather around us.

	Mojados he says again,
	Leaning on his chipped Chevy station wagon
	Been here two weeks
	About a dozen of them.
	The sonavabitche works them
	From sunup to dark - 15 hours sometimes.
	Como mulas los trabaja
	No saben como hacer la perra.
	Last Sunday they asked for a day off
	Watned to pray and rest,
	Write letters to their familiars.
	Y sabes lo que hizo el sonavabitche?
	He turns away and spits,
	Says he has to hold back half their wages
	That they'd eaten the other half:
	Sack of beans, sack of rice, sack of flour
	Frijoleros sí los son but no way
	Could they have eaten that many frijoles.
	I nod.

Como le dije, son doce - started out 13
Five days packed in the back of a pickup
Boarded up tight
Fast cross-country run no stops
Except to change drivers, to gas up
No food they pissed into their shoes -
Those that had guaraches
Slept sumped against each other
Sabe Dios where they shit.
One smothered to death on the way here.

	Miss, you should've seen them when they
Stumbled out.
First thing the sonavabitche did was clamp
A handkerchief over his nose
Then ordered them stripped
Hosed them down himself
In front of everybody.
They hobbled about
Learning to walk all over again.
Flacos con cars de viejos
Aunque la mita'eran jóvenes.

Como le estaba diciendo
Today way payday.
You saw them, la migra came busting in
Waving their pinche pistolas.
Said someone made a call,
What you call it? Anonymous.
Guess who? That sonavabitche, who else?
Done this three times since we've been coming here
Sepa Dios how many times in between.
	Wets, free labor, esclavos.
	Pobres jijos de la Chingada.

This is the last time we work for him
No matter how fregados we are
He said, shaking his head,
Spitting at the rrfround.
Vámonos, mujerm empaca el mugrero.

He hands me a cup of coffee,
Half of it sugar, half of it milk
My throat so dry I even down the dregs.
It has to be down.
Steeling myself
I take that walk to the big house.

Finally the big man lets me in.
How about a drink? I shake my head.
He looks me over, opens his eyes wide
And smiles, says how sorry he is immigration
Is getting so tough
A poor Mexican can't make a living
And they sure do need the work.
My throat so thick the words stick.
He studies me, then says,
Well, what can I do you for?
I want two weeks wages
Including two Saturdays and Sundays
Minimum wage, 15 hours a day.
I'm more startled than he.
Whoa there, sinorita,
Wets work for whatever you give them
The season hasn't been good.
Besides most are halfway to Mexico by now.
Two weeks wages, I say,
The words swelling in my throat.

	Miss uh what did you say your name was?
	I fumble for my card.
	You can't do this,
	I haven't broken no law,
	His lidded eyes darken, I step back.
	I'm leaving in two minutes and I want cash
	The whole amount right here in my purse
	When I walk out.
	No hoarseness, no trembling.
	It startled both of us.

You want me telling every single one
Of your neighbors what you've been doing
All these years? The mayor, too?
Maybe make a call to Washington?
Slitted eyes studied the card again.
They had no cards, no papers.
I'd seen it over and over,
Work them, then turn them in before paying them.

	Well, now, he was saying,
	I know we can work something out,
	A sweet young thang like yourself.
	Cash, I said. I didn't know anyone in D.C.
	Now I didn't have to.
	You want to keep it for yourself?
	That it? His eyes were pin pricks.
	Sweat money, Mister, blood money,
	Not my sweat, but same blood.
	Yeah, but who's to say you won't abscond with it?
	If I ever hear that you got illegals on your land,
	Even a single one, I'm going to come here
	In broad daylight and have you
	Hung by your balls.
	He walks slowly to his desk.
	Knees shaking, I count every bill
	Taking my time.