Chicano Poet

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Working On A Chain Gang

In the barrio I ate rocks
with a light dusting of dirt.

Aztlán grew like a beautiful woman’s body
in far-off fields.

In school all the dark ones
were thrown together.

We chattered in Spanish
behind suffocating walls.

We did not have
our own souls.

Our eyes were empty
confused and cramped.

The brown church
favored the meek.

Eventually I busted out,
made strong

by the very rocks and dirt
I once despised.


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