04-11-2021, 10:53 AM
The Death of Pancho Villa: A Parable
Francisco “Pancho” Villa was the son of a peon
his father dead when he was twelve
at seventeen he saw his sister raped by un hacendado
and shot him. He took up the gun, for 13 years
he lived as a bandit in Durango, then Chihuahua,
desert and mountains were his refuge from the federales.
Came little Madero to father a revolution,
to overthrow rotten Porfirio Diaz, who’d drained
the peasants of all but their next few meals.
Villa joined up, and soon led an army, and earned
betrayal after betrayal, first Huerta then Wilson,
then all the others: Orozco, Carranza, Obregon,
warlords first then wannabe Presidentes.
Villa finally surrendered, after American searchlights
helped his enemies in a night battle,
after his Dorados were slaughtered
by American machine guns. He retired to Durango,
to be un hacendado, but he’d made too many enemies
to be spared one last magnificent betrayal:
seven assassins, nine dum-dum bullets just for Pancho
and the absurd signal for his execution:
a pumpkin-seed seller shouting “Viva Villa!”
at the approach of his Dodge touring car.
He was my father’s hero, and he’s a hero we could share.
His reputation is not so good, now that legends
must die: rapist? Probably if not literally. Murderer?
Most certainly, just not filmed. A peasant with a gun
who never understood how to kill without one.
Francisco “Pancho” Villa was the son of a peon
his father dead when he was twelve
at seventeen he saw his sister raped by un hacendado
and shot him. He took up the gun, for 13 years
he lived as a bandit in Durango, then Chihuahua,
desert and mountains were his refuge from the federales.
Came little Madero to father a revolution,
to overthrow rotten Porfirio Diaz, who’d drained
the peasants of all but their next few meals.
Villa joined up, and soon led an army, and earned
betrayal after betrayal, first Huerta then Wilson,
then all the others: Orozco, Carranza, Obregon,
warlords first then wannabe Presidentes.
Villa finally surrendered, after American searchlights
helped his enemies in a night battle,
after his Dorados were slaughtered
by American machine guns. He retired to Durango,
to be un hacendado, but he’d made too many enemies
to be spared one last magnificent betrayal:
seven assassins, nine dum-dum bullets just for Pancho
and the absurd signal for his execution:
a pumpkin-seed seller shouting “Viva Villa!”
at the approach of his Dodge touring car.
He was my father’s hero, and he’s a hero we could share.
His reputation is not so good, now that legends
must die: rapist? Probably if not literally. Murderer?
Most certainly, just not filmed. A peasant with a gun
who never understood how to kill without one.