Chicano Poet

Saturday, July 17, 2004

Heard It Through The Grapevine

The sun turns like a pancake in the sky
the ingredients go back a long way
way back before chicanos were chicanos.

The dust rises from the desert
just outside of Palm Springs,California.
Mountains rise like the shell of a turtle.

Salton Sea becomes a wet,dirty cork,
attached or detached from an empty bottle
that bears no note cast into the sea.

My dad still drives into town to this day
always carrying his police scanner,
so he knows where all the accidents are.

Up in the mountains the snow throws daggers
at the girl in the blue jean shorts.
They are not real knives that one can actually hold for long.

Down in the valley the grapes are ripening in the vineyards
without the help of Cesar Chavez---
at least that's what they would have us believe!


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