Chicano Poet

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Beam Me Down, Scotty

The operation
had to be precise,

there could be
no screw-up,

Rey warned everyone.
The moment was at hand,

everything depended
on split-second timing,

it was like splitting hairs
or building

the Pyramid of the Sun
on the head of a needle.

The lid slide off
the sarcophagus

as the crew
pushed with all their might.

Transporter tech
Ensign Eddie Corral

was sweating profusely
as he stood by

the transporter levers.
Suddenly he plunged

the levers forward
to beam the Martian

down to D.C., (Hay les va, cabrones!)
a poetically justified smile

swept over his face
and over the face

of the others.
Mission accomplished, pal.

With high fives
all over the place,

they tossed
their space sombreros

into the manufactured air
of the S.S. Anzaldua.

Cacophonous alarms
startled everyone

back to reality.
Missiles were approaching.


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