The pusher was born close to the border
and never went by the same name.
Chicas, they called him jose, but
he also went by padre, luis, johnny,
to him it was all the same.

He was an easy going fellow,
simple, and never spent beyond his means.
He had a beach bungalow,
surfed three times a week,
and always wore the same pair of jeans.

Known mostly for his product
and as a connoisseur I can attest
that no matter where you travelled
or whomever you met
big daddy Johhny had the best.

He had a hearty laugh and loved animals
but never had a wife.
He loved playing cards, drinking cerveza
and telling stories by the fire.
He never really had an enemy in his life.

He kept all of his money in a knapsack
hidden in a cubbyhole under his bed.
He was not much of a worker,
slept away most of his days.
But when he went missing no one assumed he was dead.

They found his body by the bridge near Solona.
He had been deceased for about a week.
His story it would have gone untold,
just another illegal murdered by his own.
If I didn't have the nerve to speak.

08/13/2008

Author's Note: part I.

Posted on 08/14/2008
Copyright © 2025 Frank Lee