Prickly Pear Stare

At sun-death he returns,
the man on the corner
in el pueblo, perching
at night, squat as a statue
until sunrise.

The wives talk; say he hides
something behind that blood-
red blanket and prickly pear
stare. Who knows what
mystery he keeps so close?

They whisper he’s an assassin
from the Medellín cartel
come to kill us in our sleep;
but who knows?
We never see his face.