Chicano Poet

Tuesday, June 12, 2007


Flashback: Had a dream you were a blade of grass,
so I got out the riding mower
and took care of that. Now the story.

I know Walt Whitman will not
think kindly of me,
neither will the Society For The

Prevention Of Cruelty To Grass.
Had a dream you were a blade of grass,
sharp as daggers, a danger to dicks & children.

I called the stinking cops.
They showed up with sirens blaring,
jumped out of their cars

guns drawn, starting shooting
at everything that moved.
They shot the black neighbor’s dog,

they shot the black neighbor’s wife.
They missed you,
you’re hard to hit

even by trained marksmen.
I took matters into my own hands,
got the mower & took care of you myself.

You are lying dead on the front yard,
your green thighs will soon turn brown
like a Chicana’s thighs.


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