Chicano Poet

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Chicano Ice Age

Artemio wipes off his club,
hair stuck to his fingersnails
from having pulled the animal

across dirt and rocks.
The sky, dinosaur-blue,
echoes with the sound of beasts

intent on taking their toll.
Artemio skins the saber-tooth tiger
that almost took his life,

the teeth will be his trophies.
He will not share it
with the shaman.

Artemio mixes pigments
to celebrate his victory
on the cave wall.

The others huddle at the entrance,
their furs flutter
in the chill wind.

Long, dirty matted hair
meticulous to the pellets of ice
that begin to fall.

May 4, 2007
2:00 PM
2:07 PM


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