Mexican Drunk

 I saw a Mexican drunk this morning

walking, like a Fremen in the sand, so

as not to attract the worms. I’m sure

that’s not what he was thinking. He was

not very big, but he certainly was a man,

and he was borracho….he just moved 

slower, like molasses, but not that slow.

He handled his drunken self like a horse

he’d ridden for many years. He was present 

and gentle. He looked like he was in his

element. He said “Buenos Dias” to me as

he oozed by where I was sitting. I could 

feel his dignity.