Chicano Poet

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Henry’s Own Private Lima, Peru

The unfortunate man had no lower half,
except a flat piece of wood
mounted on wheels

and that’s how he got around the village.
From there the Andes rise and rise
until they hurt your eyes.

The stone buildings proved to be
earthquake resistant,
the underground canals,

a thousand years old,
still carry water to this day.
We give the skateboard man

American dollars and head back
to rat-infested New York City
thinking we’re better-off.

The muggers in the subway
slither home to beat their girlfriends.
We must re-invent the wheel.


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