Seas of Sand

20 days have passed—

And there is still more.

Glass pelts against my skin—

I hear it on my head afore.

It feels like the prick of a needle

A sharp point and ding—

Against my very brow

Like my skin is being peeled

By the ping and the ding—

Like a layer of paint falling from its hold.

Damn gun jammed again—

Sand inside is worse than glue.

Try to make this work again—

But time is running slim

Maybe I should have refused to come

Maybe I should have stayed,

In my safe haven—

Trouble is I am not a citizen yet

But I still fight this crazy war.

And on my return I know

They will deport me

Back to Mexico—

Ole!