I Pray for Jose

Jose awakens, an empty bottle of mescal in his left hand, an empty six shooter in his right. There are three serape-draped bodies lying nearby. “Asleep or dead?” is his first thought. “Where’s Veronica?” is his second.

It’s barely dawn but the sunrise is enough to illuminate the dusty clouds being kicked up by a posse of 4-wheelers heading his way.

“Where’s Veronica?!” Panic begins to dominate Jose’s fevered thoughts. He rises and staggers toward the adobe hut where the party started last night.

“Where the fuck am I? Where’s my daughter?”

“VERONICA!” He screams one last time as he’s cut down by the border patrol’s fusillade.

‘Take no prisoners’ was the DHS order.