Chicano Poet

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Gone Por The Callejon

Teenage girl coming out of Tencha’s Bakery, her
nalgitas hanging out. A mangy dog runs up the street
with an abandoned, green empanada. A cop patrols
the dusty San Antonio streets with an erection. Lelo
pushes a grocery cart as if it was his RV. Two twelve
year old chicanitos buy heroin from Jose Cardenal,
their dealer, himself only sixteen. The Chicano artist
Cesar Augusto Martinez still paints vatos locos whose
type disappeared fifty years ago. It’s all good. A
viejita walks towards the tortillera, she’s too old to
make her own tortillas, chihuahua. Two teenage girls
with IPods full of Mexican hip hop mp3s show off
their brown faces. One of them is on her period. If
you stick your finger inside of her you can be her
blood brother. A poem takes shape on nearby
Zarzamora Street, its innards exposed to hot, ancient
asphalt, on its way here, as we sprechen sie deutsche.


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