Chicano Poet

Monday, July 10, 2006


How do you like me in pink,
how do you like me in Army boots,
how do you like a holy place run by rats?

Well, I don’t know if my shoes
can catch the fleeing, billion Chinese,
their spines float in rain.

Accept it. There is no shelter quite as purple
and I thought I saw Tafolla pay for more,
the waves polite before they crashed ashore.

How do you like me now?
A wrong turn is always wrong
unless you look from the other side.

But please note that the afternoon lashes at the ground
until the bruises can be seen from outer space.
I told you things would get this way.


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