Crowded and late chicken bus

Crowded and late chicken bus
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"Dios me guia" the glittering letters shout
two glittering bathing beautiies reclining to either side of the words
I imagine the terror of reading these insane words
as the bus runs me down

But not now
the fifty colored ex-Nebraska school system International Harvester School bus
is so late and so crowded on this street
that it's a wonder we get anywhere at all
and a greater wonder that we can get off when we get there

My plastic bag of blankets sits on my lap
crushed by a Quechican man in a Texas Ranger's cap
breathing vodka fumes on me in a loud Quechican accent
Hey Gringo, Where You Coming From
and then turns back to his seat mate
and breaths vodka Quechican at her for a while

And I am so late and so crowded that I'll never get there
I'll be on this bus when the final horn sounds
and I'll be sentenced to a dusty half Quechican hell
of my own making
I chose to do this
I chose to do this!
and they just wouldn't believe this back in Irving now would they?

And this Quechican hell still tastes of dusty Texas heaven
heaven for Texans
where the sound of fifty different radios
tuned to fifty different stations
would sound like Gabriel's horn
blowing away the
blonde-bleached
bed-tanned
plastic-titted denizens of my hometown

"Budweiser: Autentico, como tú":
At least this is honest
at least this is indigenous
and we the intruders
at least this is part of the real history of the real world

But right now my underwear is crawling up my ass
and my seat is not shaped for my butt
and I'm so damn late
and so damn crowded.
-Tim Allen
Antigua, Guatemala, August 1998