IN POETRY
Tear Gas

by H.J. Recinos

they have walked for
weeks across a couple

of borders with young
men absorbed by images

of mothers handcuffed
by the border patrol and

slipped into nearly new
lock-up vans while kids

watched, and cried. they
have paced themselves for

days, whispering to each
other that no great gospel

truth would materialize
where border cops lay in

wait swinging batons with
closed eyes. the migrants have

promised to start a new life on
the other side with bent backs

that lower their wet eyes to earth
and children on this one-way trip

to America birthed. with blistered
feet they have slipped passed many

Sundays without hearing a single
bell, rested cold nights in hiding

waist deep in tears, felt incurable
sadness facing what was to come

in the land unexplained by divine
grace and greedily fed. they have

trod the miry lanes of Spanish-speaking
lands that beg for God’s pity, come to

the artificial line of a rude country to
experience the president’s men toss

with tempest ire tear gas canisters at
brown faces and innocent people who

haggle for a little more life.