Chicano Poet

Friday, November 16, 2007

Doing Time

When the siege was finally over,
they brought Emily out in handcuffs,
her face towards contempt.

She made a fist in solidarity
with no one. At this stage of the game,
there are no more Brown Berets,

no more Black Panthers, no Weatherunderground,
no more Royal Chicano Airforces,
oh, Stokely Carmichael where are you?

Emily will no doubt rot
in a gang-run Texas prison
where there’s no difference between warden & prisoner.

James Dean burned alive in the desert,
Che got chupacabraed in Bolivia, Crane went insane.
Emily, there’s nothing to be gained from poetry,

get it through your thin skull,
ruminate, concentrate,
and, stay out of my damn truck!


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