Three Days 'til Christmas

And then went down to the evening train
set eyes against the Albuquerque sun and
old town smells,
waving faces, borrachos head bent in alley pain
no drink but broken glass, redbrick friends, shaky hands
over flame in drums—the bells

of the mission donged and clanged to the chug and roll,
a whistle whipped our ears in motions not striking west
but Kansas bound—
three days ‘til Christmas morning, stockings, this year, full of coal—
three days were hundreds miles away, lifetimes left to crest,
lifetimes like mountains to go around

never to face or to ascend. But in the seat across all hope renewed
in one sweet supple face from desert mesas seemed saintly hewed.
Her eyes had lost
life’s first flicker fast and her legs and breasts knew the cost
of a stranger lingering a glance and nursing a devil smile.
She like heaven’s last holy angel dismissed my advances all the while.