Chicano Poet

Monday, October 17, 2005

Henry’s Elegy For Joe Sandoval, Jr.

Back in the late fifties
Henry’s Uncle Joe, Sr.
had one of the first lowriders

on Hidalgo Street,
someone took Henry’s picture
wearing shorts only,

leaning against the back bumper,
a plastic toy guitar standing next to him.
Henry was five, the years pass.

Joe, Jr. is born forty-three years ago.
Henry hadn’t seen him
in maybe eight years.

Sadly, this week
Henry’s sister calls him with the news
that Joe, Jr. had died in a car wreck.

His wishes were to be cremated
and his ashes scattered at his
favorite fishing spot on the Gulf of Mexico.

Henry wonders whatever happened
to Uncle Joe’s lowrider,
gone overboard now like Berryman.

Whatever happened
to five year-old Henry,
plastic guitar melted by Tonatiuh

like Dali clocks.
Joe, Jr., gone home to the sea again,
welcomed no doubt by the Chicano Poseidon.


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