Chicano Poet

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

He Grew His Beard Long In A Cave

He grew his beard long in a cave,
his eyes sharp like a sniper’s eyes,
the catacombs dripped famous.

The President and the generals
appear to hoard religious coke
in Christian cavities,

but Robinson looks away
his hair orange like his wife’s photograph
ringing and ringing on the mantle.

He dreamed of Mexico
not realizing that Mexicans congregate,
ticks crawling over Acapulco,

jobless termites eat the steel
the white man has put up.
The pyramids are vases with Ann’s flowers.

Robinson closes the car door
and keeps on dreaming
a dream that kicks at you.

Once inside, Robinson closes the curtains
to reveal panties
which once belonged to Ann’s volition.

He scribbles a poem
that sticks out of the wall
where neighbors see it.


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