Chicano Poet

Monday, July 31, 2006

Andrew Braunberger

Just outside a bunker bombed by the Israelis
stood a shrub on which
a butterfly briefly paused,

just in time to get killed
by the concussion of the 500lb. bomb.
Its tattered wings floated away

and landed dust-covered,
broken antennae separated by small stones,
its abdomen leaking death on the hillside.

Which side did she favor,
Jews, Arabs, Americans, Iranians,
Chicanos, powerless poets, the uncaring rich,

carpenters, soldiers, construction workers,
teachers, drug addicts, plumbers, merchants,
bankers, auto mechanics, magicians?

Her spirit circled the globe
three times before it dissipated
somewhere in our ignorant minds.