Miguel came from a small town in northern Mexico
he came north with his brother Louis
to California three years ago
they crossed at the river levee
when Louis was just sixteen
and found work together
in the fields of the San Joaquin
They left their homes and family
their father said
- My sons one thing you will learn
for everything the north gives
it exacts a price in return -
They worked side by side in the orchards
From morning till the day was through
Doing the work the hueros wouldn’t do.
Word was out some men in from Sinaloa
were Looking for some hands
well, deep in Fresno county there
was a deserted chicken ranch
and there in a small tin shack
on the edge of a ravine
Miguel and Louis stood
cooking methamphetamine
You could spend a year in the orchards
or make half as much in one ten hour shift
working for the men from Sinaloa
but if you slipped the hydriodic acid
could burn right through your skin
they’d leave you spittin’ up blood in the desert
if you breathed those fumes in
It was early one winter evening
as Miguel stood watch outside
when the shack exploded
lighting up the valley night
Miguel carried Louis’ body
over his shoulder down a swale
to the creekside and there
in the tall grass, Louis Rosales died
Miguel lifted Louis’ body
into his truck and then he drove
to where the morning sunlight fell
on a eucalyptus grove
there in the dirt he dug up ten-thousand dollars
all that they’d saved
kissed his brother’s lips
and placed him in his grave.

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