Chicano Poet

Monday, March 24, 2008


When my granddaughter goes to the hoop
she’s got her tongue hanging out like Michael Jordan.

Actually, she’s a year and five months old
and running across the living room floor.

She’s playing with a plastic coffee can,
putting the lid on and taking it off.

Her dolls and her talking, teaching toys
lie abandoned in the desert.

Her rat terrier climbs Mt. Everest
without oxygen or Sherpas.

When my granddaughter goes to the hoop,
Lew Alcindor has to change his shorts and god.


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