No Man’s Land

I grew up on the border
Where the men were unapologetically male
And women wore flowers in their hair
Where the sun burned white-hot at high noon
Shining down on dusty roads and children playing on the banks of the Rio Grande
Where siesta time was long and sweet
The cerveza, ice cold
I have danced till dawn in Lajitas
Broken bread with scoundrels down in Oujinaga
And seen many an uppity gringo put in his place
In such a wasteland, in those days, there was no Mexican
No Texan
Because those of us who lived there knew that we belonged to neither country
We belonged to each other

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