I chose to write about my visits to Tijuana or Rosarito in Baja California, Mexico because they are famous among Americans for their tourist sites. But when i go, i cannot help but see my connection to these people since i am of Mexican decent. When i go with my family, i obviously feel at home with these people because they remind me of my close relatives, and i could actually conversate with them. However, i still feel disconnected to them because i know our relationship is based on my family and i being tourists. seeing it that way made me see this area in a totally different way. I relate this experience to William Blake’s “London” because Tijuana and Rosarito seem like places for fun, but just like London back then, there is a duality of those who suffer there.

This vacation comes in the form of hot pavement

and big fat pigeons swallowing the leftovers of gluttony itself

from tourists spilling scraps off the sides of their paper plates

then force feeding garbage cans the greasy stacked waste.


I look back down at the pavement and think Dalmatian.

There are spots of old blackened gum that must’ve been

Chiclets brand at some point—and I see pigeon shit.

This I cannot say about the people around me, but almost.


The people resemble me in their language and skin color

but I notice a layer of difference in their greased faces and eager temperament,

and in the cheap makeup on the girl dressed to impress

the frequent pervert who thinks a shitty grin will seduce her.


Baja California screams sunshine and sand

and I hear a man yelling profanities in English

and spilling beer when I go to the beach.

Children selling Chiclets seem to make more money

than their dirt-smeared cheeks and ragged clothes seem to show.

(not done, unrevised)


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