Chicano Poet

Thursday, December 01, 2016

Black Bird Singing In The Dead Of Night

What would happen if Andres Sobaco
alias el Numbnuts was a blackbird
stuck in the barrio like the rest of us
eating pebbles (ah, a stoneaterrean)
and forsaking dragonflies and earthworms
after a dirty barrio rain
you know the kind of rain
I'm talking about
oily and hanging over the streets
that haven't been paved since 1960
and el Numbnuts flaps
his dark dark wings
you'd think night had indeed descended
out of nowhere and caught you
by surprise indisposed indiscreet
cheating on your wife
with your wife's underage niece
just then el Numbnuts flies off
to the neighbor's rotting chinaberry tree
you see him arching his back to poop

Sunday, November 20, 2016

My Seguin

Remember when Gaudalupe Street
ended just below Joe F. Saegert school
the drain pipe oozing into Walnut Creek
of course you don’t
you weren’t born yesterday
I was
and I’ll drag all those memories
around with me
until the day I die
and then my Seguin
the one that fills my head
will rise up into the sky
and come crashing back down
no one will hear it but me
and then it will be your Seguin

to do with what you will

Friday, November 11, 2016

In this incarnation, El Numbnuts was a heavy set Chicano living
in the Westside of San Antonio, in a house that belonged to
his abuela, his grandmother, who had lived long, long ago
in a galaxy far, far away.

Rosa's Birthday

in memory of Felix Sanchez

El Numbnuts girlfriend didn't have
long beautiful black hair
no beautiful eyes
and definitely no ears
on which to hang golden earrings
she had no voice
so yeah she couldn't
talk dirty and nasty in bed
yeah you guessed it
she had no mouth
and no beautiful nose
with which to breathe
no arms with which
to hold him tight at night
no beautiful thighs
to spread open wide
no spine to arch during sex
no beautiful ass
to let him climb
el Numbnuts girlfriend
didn't have long beautiful black hair
and today was not really her birthday

Tuesday, November 01, 2016

El Numbnuts Of The Westside

El Numbnuts was obese had bad knees
was nothing to sneeze at
otherwise he was unhealthy
a bad to the bone mojon
he had a way with words
that made you hurt
but he also had a soft side
his nalgas were flabby as hell
El Numbnuts lived
in the baddest barrio of them all
the mean streets of the Westside
where a look could get you killed
where no one had abuelas anymore
where the weak peed
when the strong decreed
but nobody ever messed with El Numbnuts

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Martin Street

Stray dog on Martin Street
eyes like a lost lover
the freeway humming like a bee
a cop strangles tacos

in days gone by
I ran up this street
my long hair stretching from Robert B. Green
the moon all sweaty in my hands
until I got to Cecilio's house

the San Antonio River made of newspaper
lies crumpled against a curb downtown
my tongue long as a sword

Friday, October 21, 2016

The Greasy Spoon

Back in the Fifties
a greasy burger joint
posted a sign saying
Mexicans served around the back
Negroes go on down the road
to Emma's Place
but at least they had the courtesy
to tell you where to go
and abuelo pulled the perro
out of the stationwagon
and let him do his business
right at the front door
to greet the gringo customers
my abuelo was such
a forgiving old man

Saturday, October 15, 2016


I'm done combing the Westside for ants
the dilapidated houses
refuse to suffer
old man Centeno's soul
cast aside like used gum
that won't stick to shoes

not even the ghost of ant mounds
spiral against dogs
who would know better
I'm done combing the Westside
for the sighs of ants
their little brown shoulders
I used to lean on