Chicano Poet

Friday, January 06, 2006


Henry Turns Fifty-Nine

Henry wrote a clever line here
and a clever line over there,
stepped into his underwear, turned fifty-nine,

punished those he didn’t like
until they whined like swine.
The poetry of revolution

can battle pollution, disillusion,
institution, while listening
to the warriors of the past.

Meanwhile, the Republicans take their toll
because instead of a heart in their chest
they have a big green hole.

So Henry writes a line with a lot of spine,
something with backbone in it,
something Xilo, Max and the Black Hat Poet

would have laughed about
somewhere on the Westside of San Anto.
But the years have made Henry long in the snout,

his hair is whiter than the color white,
his birthday candles will not light,
his cake won’t respond to his toothless bite!


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