Mr. Henry’s Neighborhood

Drive through my barrio now
and all you see is the new arrivals,
you can’t leave your door unlocked anymore,

the Medranos, the Nietos, the Barreras,
the Acevedos, where have they all gone?
The neighborhood store is no more,

the park is a place for punks now.
Sure, I’m an old man
and you might not like what I say,

but I didn’t give a damn when I was young
what makes you think I give a damn now,
you little bastards.

They glare at me as I drive through their turf,
unaware that nothing is theirs,
that the landlord tags their behinds while they swagger.

Drive through my barrio now
and all you see is the new arrivals,
their roots are flying in the wind.