Chicano Poet

Tuesday, March 13, 2007


There’s a bounding creature in each of us,
go ahead, put your finger on your face,
rotate that face in the mirror.

Pick up a stone, throw it at the mirror
with all your strength.
Even if the mirror breaks

the creature is still there on the wall.
Robinson walks to the grocery store,
those darn Italian brothers

better have bread today he thinks,
but soon his thoughts have reverted to his thoughts.
The words stretch out

until they break like rubber bands,
stinging his unshaven chin,
stubble tripping up the young Shakespearean sonnet

he once hoped to write in blood.
The amphibian writes on water,
the reptilian on sand,

he speculated as he reached the subway.
The prehistoric buildings rose into the jungle sky,
monkeys battled on the thirty-seventh floor

with this or that money-making scheme.
Robinson ducked into the train
which carried him toward Times Square.

No one seemed startled by his appearance---
this creature in suit and tie.
No one seemed startled but Robinson himself.


At 11:25 PM, Blogger Stu said...

I'm finding these poems compulsive... kudos!

Can we expect a whole series of Lorca poems?


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