Chicano Poet

Sunday, February 16, 2020

Whorehouse On Mango Street

I went to the whorehouse on Mango Street
to get a piece of ass

when you build a house made of glass
the view is so damn sweet

I picked the pretty gringa
that I thought could take a chinga

she did whatever I paid for
she was after all a whore

I went to the whorehouse on Mango Street
the best little whorehouse on American dirt

the young whore picked up her skirt
her lips were red as the stripes on the flag

I recommend the whore Jeanine
she calls herself the American Dream

Monday, February 10, 2020

Blood In The Water

there's blood in the waters
of America

there's carnage to be had
everyone has lost their heads

the men are long and tall
Neanderthal

meek women drown their children
in the creek

there's nothing more patriotic
then the white men idiotic

there's blood in the water
and America can't swim

let it drown or be eaten
by the white cretins

there's blood in the water
Miss Liberty screams louder

Thursday, February 06, 2020

Paraphrasing AC/DC

I’ve got big balls
And they’ve got big balls
He’s got big balls
And she’s got big balls
But Mitt Romney
Has the biggest balls
Of them all

Wednesday, February 05, 2020

Elegy For Billie Eilish

She thought she had it made
in the shade,
but it was nighttime.

Sunday, February 02, 2020

La Vida Loca


When she told me she had cheated on me,
I imagined Cher spread-eagled,

and Sonny dead on the slopes.
Thank you, tree, oh thank you, tree.

Could I forsake the look of love in her eyes
while she humped another man?

It ain’t me, babe, it ain’t me.
The song kept grinding like an organ grinder’s monkey,

and did not resolve itself.
It ain’t me, babe, echoed once again.

It was Sonny’s misfortune,
but you are just a whore, I hollered.

Saturday, January 25, 2020

My new book Tierra Gringa will be out in the fall. 
It’s about how I as a Chicano have tried to be the 
best gringo ever.  Believe me, it’s not easy. But, I 
think I did a great job. Please buy my book. 
Pre-orders are now being taken.

Thursday, January 16, 2020

As I Lay Dying


Why does Dylan Thomas look at me
as I go gentle into that goodnight?

Why does Robert Lowell run out of juice
every manic Monday?

Why did Sylvia leave a note on the refrigerator,
“Too cold to die in here.”

Why did Allen Ginsberg come to Texas
and waste his New York minute?

Drunk as hell, Ann Sexton
pinched her clitoris in anger.