Chicano Poet

Thursday, February 05, 2009

The Rusted Car

You thought you found a rusted car
hiding in your dress,

anything to persuade the moon
back into her place,

moonbeam after moonbeam
having drifted slightly off the mark.

On the barrio basketball court,
brown boys battle from our window.

You and me, babe,
have come a long way

to arrive here
at our loins.


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