Chicano Poet

Wednesday, June 30, 2004

Christmas In Boston

There is electricity in the bay
and the pointed ears of the sun
are the first thing you see on the other horizon.

We drive around in circles
through the rotary at Hingham,
outer space a hundred miles away.

At Bldg. 19 you fall in love
with a sofa that has recliners at each end.
......the things one remembers.....

The rusty Boston freeways need a coat of paint,
diving as they do,under the sea.
You smoke up a storm in the van,

the smoke rings escape and
ground all traffic at
Robert Lowell Confessional Airport.

When the smoke clears
I fly back to the heart of Texas,
home of Lyndon"Beans" Johnson,the Mexican Governor.

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