Y No Se Los Trago La Poesia

(la vacota Henry)

Rivera and Hinojosa
were still respected,
their Kafka insects Mexican to the bone.

Their Mallarme faun heads
cowering under porches,
under the noses of the white man.

The Rio Bravo water
dirty like the thoughts of man,
the ruins owed in Spanish.

In those days,
Henry drugged
and quite addicted to a day-dreamed Rosa

didn’t give a damn,
not even after impregnating
the tabla rosa.

So, the great Chicano prose writers
showed no surprise
and the masses never were that lyrical.

But, Henry, tough as an old vaquero
never even once
thought of giving up.