el jeffe poem by Ken Peters

i was el jefe
i could not choose
the necessary new clinic
and improvements
to the port facility
so i built
a lovely hacienda
in the grove
the dust rising
like a memory
on the road
from town
i was the lover
who crept midnight ways
I was the smirking private
who lounged at the door
i was the colonel
who held the luger
to el jefe’s head
i was the laughing driver
who drove
the beat up
Chevy Impala
around the square
i was the rope
that connected
el jefe’s battered body
to the Chevy
i was
most of all
the small boy
who watched
from the corner house
second story
to see el jefe’s ear
as the Impala
made the turn