Chicano Poet

Friday, June 27, 2008


Mistakes are only mistakes in Mistakeland
I tell myself, and you, being my opposite,

yet tell yourself the same thing,
neighbors, too, and so do tribes

in the jungles of Borneo
as I gather limbs brought down

by last night’s thunderstorms,
an empty bird nest lies on its side,

across the river, the skyline of the city
hangs against white clouds,

a news helicopter flies towards Rikers
where a petty thief has crossed the line

and as I look closer, the bridge Hart cherished
stands on shaky ground

according to the long range forecasts,
the ice is melting, somebody unplugged

the refrigerator, oh, General Electric,
oh, Sergeant tell me,

hurry up and get it over with
this isn’t sex I whisper to myself

but continue diligently to the bitter end
if only because it’s my job


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