Leo Larry Amadore | + Follow Poet |
Free verse | + Fav Poem | Comment | Email | Print |

Jimmy, El Nopalero

Listen to poem:

Nopalero = one who deals with/sells nopales [edible prickly pear cactus leafs/pads]

Aiiiii, Jimmy --
what shall we say, now that you've gone,
worst fear realized:  your body discovered,
days later, in your filthy Mexican rooms,
amid the soiled paper littering the floors,
reeking of cat urine and layer upon layer
of dried and fresher feces. These feral cats
were your most faithful companions.
You thought yourself their benefactor and, 
perhaps, their savior. We were told that,
after your demise, when the door opened,
all 21 fled, never to return.  

You left us, unbathed, smelly, shunned, 
just weeks before  your birthday, 
having almost (but not quite) suffered 
through 80 years, the last 30 spent in 
bordertown Mexico.  You, daily, crossed
the bridge to claim your mail -- which (for a fee)
promised to guarantee you would be a winner
of lotteries, sweepstakes, miraculous windfalls.

You subsisted on senior coffees at McD's, 
and your pitiful government assistance.
You blamed your life on abuse by brothers
(all dead long before you) and you could not
understand why richer acquaintances --
virtually everyone -- were unwilling
to share with you their bounty.
In the plazas, you were a familiar sight,
selling whatever you could: you were 
"el viejo gringo," "el Jimmy," "el nopalero," 
and other less generous but, perhaps, appropriate
 "apodos".  You knew animals, had some expertise
with birds. Your chief preoccupation was 
yourself,  and your main complaint was 
that you never got your just deserts.

No one deserves to end as you did -- unclaimed, 
a foreign body, interred in Mexico
in an unmarked pauper's grave: 
a "fosa comun."  You only wanted to be loved. 
RIP my friend; I did not mean to be unkind.

James Milford Pierson, 27 February 1934 - 2 February 2014.

Please Login to post a comment