For Max

Do not go gentle into that adios
fight,fight like the chicano kid,
bloom like the pastures of Nixon,Tejas...

Rage against the disappearance of the words,
words you shaped out of the Nothing
that the whites wanted you to have.

The stars glittered like we
dreamed the chicano movement
would sweep across Aztlan.

Cruising Culebra in the 1970's in your
Volkswagen Beetle,we were heading here-----
it is only now we have arrived.

Like Musketeers we drew our words
and slashed at the enemy,
in our determined fashion.

We may not take our place
among the great chicano writers,
but,live by the word,carnal,live by the word!