Chicano Poet

Friday, July 02, 2010

Delivering The Goods

Landing on Mars,
he pulled out

his last Lucky Strikes
from a crumpled pack.

The shoulder pocket
on his space suit

was not made
for this kind of contraband.

After he inhaled
a long, delicious cloud of smoke,

he turned to yell
at Eulogio and Arnulfo,

“Andale! Andale,
get this shit unloaded

so weese can
git back home!”


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