Here I Am In My Birthday Suit At Fifty-Seven,
It Ain’t A Pretty Sight (Read: Site)

Today is my birthday,
I turn fifty-seven,
still hanging

in there.
Lost some good friends.
When I write

this or that
I think
"Hey, Cecilio, would

appreciate these chicano colors."
Or I say to myself,
"Hey, Jim,

would like the
shaman feelings
in this poem."

Or I say
"The Chicano Kid, Max,
must be writing up a storm."

So, I keep on
writing my chicano poems
though

maybe no one
is listening,
maybe chicano poetry

does not reach
young chicanos
anymore,

and if it reaches them
maybe they
don’t care.

But, after
fifty-seven years
what else can I do?

So, here it is,
another chicano poem,
brown like me,

willing to
stand alone
if need be,

because standing
alone is part
of being chicano,

or at least
it used
to be.

Today is my birthday,
I turn fifty-seven---
horseshit, pass by!