Chicano Poet

Thursday, September 28, 2006

El Tren De La Verdad Muy Pronto Se Acerca
A Los Angeles, Califas

Weldon Kees was killed by a Mexican train
with only a peso in his pocket.
My Aunt Estolia swears to this.

I eat ancient, fried cactus scrambled in eggs.
Bukowski delivered the mail
smelling of rear and beer.

Only bones remain of Lorca,
Spain was always a runt
yells a midget on the corner of Hollywood and Swine.

O. J. cuts Nicole’s throat, stabs Goldman to death.
A poem sprouts between them
and flourishes in the white Ford Bronco.

The train is just now beginning to slow down.
A Mexican mile equals a thousand gringo miles.
My Aunt Estolia swears to this shit---

good Catholic which she continues to be.
Weldon’s torso lies in the arroyo
next to La Llorona’s children.

The train arrives in LA,
chickens and dogs exit first
while truth cowers in the caboose.

I was not there of course,
I was too young,
but my Aunt Estolia swears to this.

And when the truth
finally reared its ugly head
everyone realized why we prefer to lie.


At 5:06 AM, Blogger chris said...

we used to day 'dynamite' in response to good strong stuff. and ED tried to say something like you know a good poem when it taked the top of your head off. hey, RC--some dynamite here just took off the top of my head . . . :)


At 5:08 AM, Blogger chris said...

taked=ungrammatical for takes or took.

At 10:57 AM, Blogger RC said...

Thanks,Chris.I guess when it really comes down to having one great teacher it would have to be Emily Dickinson.


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