A large sign in a desert town

Advertising a free cactus

For anybody who buys produce

From their tiny hole in the wall

Store, the big letters caught

My eye as I was driving.

-

Just passing through, driving

To Mexico, this small town,

Aloof from the world, not caught

In its antics, itself a cactus—

Ancient, its solitude a wall,

Shuts off the trouble we produce.

-

Sure, a war is certain to produce

A reaction, newspapers driving

Common frenzies, but still the wall

Of life in a small town

Refreshes me, watching the cactus

Completely at ease, caught

-

Wising I could stay, caught

By the gaudy sign on a produce

Stand, prospect of a free cactus

Strikingly amusing, driving

Through the dusty town

And rows of stucco walls.

-

I stop, slouch against the wall,

Watch while the world is caught

In wars that this small town

Will never see, produce

Chaos and terror, driving

Nations mad, but the cactus—

-

My lonely, silent cactus—

Silhouetted against stucco walls

As I am reluctantly driving

Past, Reminds me I am caught,

Too, in the madness we produce,

Even alone in a sleepy town.

-

I leave the free cactus town’s

Stucco walls, memories produce

Ghosts, fear’s driving—we’re caught.