the expatriate

if I see another tortilla,
she writes
in her sauce smudged
postcard,
I might cut my wrists
with a taco shell
or dip my head into
the largest glass
of margarita I can find.
i'm sort of done
with south of the border.
yesterday there was
a traffic jam
of a truck carrying
chickens and a wagon
full of limes
going to market.
I had to wait over
a minute to cross the road
to the cantina
for a teacher's meeting.
i'm no longer wearing
clothes,
I just get up and put
a poncho over my
body and go to work.
I miss soap and water,
my bed. I wonder how my
plants are doing
on the balcony,
and my cat. my little
black gato sitting
on the sill wondering
when i'll come back.