Guerrero Pears

The tree hangs brown pears over his head. 

From his pores white snakes pop, they swim

down his face to turn the soil. His tongue lies

in blood that’s collected between his teeth.

He swallows red until he cries it. Streams run

around his nostrils; they bloom into a field

of roses at his chin. Birds perch on his gums

and drink the salt of him. His body, three feet

away in a cooler rots with two beers and a knife.

His wide eyes are bruised and have turned black.

A girl comes to climb the tree for fruit and shakes

at each branch. The birds, scared, fly into the tree,

she opens the cooler, she covers her face, she

vomits. She looks at his head and says, Un Hombre.