Chicano Poet

Monday, September 25, 2006

Death Cab For Cal

The American wife, the English wife,
the daughter scratching puberty,
an honored family name to boot.

Flying over the ocean,
he poured over his life
as if it was his own.

His profession was words
even if he was speechless.
The ups and downs of gravity

demand their share
and never ask for whom
the liberty bell tolls.

He hails a cab at JFK,
Zapruder zig zags into town.
But the heart attack arrives before him.

The dead poetry confesses to no one in particular
while the cab driver bitches,
“Who’s gonna pay the fare!”

with apologies to the band DCFC


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