The Mayan Comet

She landed on a comet once before,
she’s done her job upon the stars.

The rock and metal remain,
the ice is turning into gas.

Her rocket has veins showing,
and sweaty muscles for life support.

The sun is dangling
from its string.

She’s climbing back into her rocket
which trembles like a doe.

The earth is not just a planet
but a way of life you know.

Light speed slows down to a crawl
around her.

The landing is quite dusty,
the desert thighs so hot.

The nerdy scientists wear cotton glasses,
they’ve run out of soda bottles.

“You’ve made amazing discoveries
which as a rule we must deny.”

said the frumpy, gay generalissimo
to her gorgeous, naked eyes.

The Bus Stop

There I was blowing up settlers
at a bus stop.

The silence was terrible
and appeared higher and higher.

The bright light was so dark,
empty words fell out of my lifeless head

and instantly I knew
the one solitary thing.

My body was no longer mine,
yet even more mine than before.

God was nearby and refused
to get involved.

He sent his shallow angels
who fanned their oily wings about

and leapt back into the hole of heaven
as if nothing would ever happen.

…recently I (that’s me) have started writing
in a minaturistic style, leaving no room whatsoever
for imagination to interfere with the final outcome…

When Supergirl Was Six

When Supergirl was six,
she sputtered when she flew.

She was not top
nor bottom heavy.

Some boys liked her,
some did not.

But, oh boy, when she bloomed,
there was no standing room.

So pretty when she flew,
so pretty when she landed.

Her cape wrapped around
her perfect body.

No criminal was safe,
no villain free to flee.

But when Supergirl was six,
she sputtered when she flew.

Cartoon Poem

When Tom Terrific blows his top,
his thinking cap is hard to stop.

His tree house catches fire
making it much higher.

Mighty Manfred The Wonder Dog
sleeps like a spacious log.

Tom’s foes are rotten to the core.
When they get beat, they get quite sore.

When The Thing King paints rainbows black,
Tommy brings the color back.

Mr. Instant’s evil toil
is no match for Tommy’s foil.

Tom’s Wonder Dog goes dreaming
that Crabby Appleton cries screaming.

When Tom Terrific blows his top,
his thinking cap is hard to stop.

The Giant Robot

He was a giant robot looking for love
on a very strangely planet.

The suns were dizzy
with what they had to do.

Nearby stars expelled their light,
and confined themselves like ruby slaves.

No comets came to save the day,
a ringed-planet dropped its rings.

The robot looked for love in vain.
His eyes exploded which was plain to see.

His love-interest was a small robot
which made her hard to find.

He cursed the planet for its vastness,
and grasped at glassy straws with his dented hearts.

Tumbling Towards Earth

Abuela was a warrior and a waif,
in her sixties she still enjoyed sex and bragged about it.

She cut the enemy in half with her light-saber
and felt no guilt.

How do you think Mars became free once again?
Not from the efforts of men!

Abuela flew her space fighter as far away
as the rings of Saturn,

fought the dense gravity of Jupiter,
brought back ice-rodents from Io---

the cracked moons of the solar system
were no match for her.

She wrestled asteroids just for the hell of it,
and let them go tumbling towards the earth.

She never told us grandkids
what revenge she sought.

The Raygun

(Me entiendes, Mendez?)

One day abuela got careless and left her raygun lying around
and I blasted my cousin Mandy Mendez to smithereens.

Well, not really, she did recover,
but her eyes were never brown again,

and that spiky hair, well, it’s natural now.
Oh, she forgave me,

but I don’t think abuela ever did.
One thing for sure, she never left that raygun

lying around anymore.
Of course,I think the scar I carry with me

is bigger and more noticeable than Mandy’s,
at least out here in outer space.

Rocking Chair Rocket

In abuela’s intergalactic travels,
she encountered many adventures

which she related to us grandkids as bedtime stories.
Scary no-headed monsters,

a two-story tall space princess,
rockets that moaned as they flew

through the living planets of silk and stone.
We’d go to bed past midnight

and dream of abuela in her spacesuit
battling the enemies of Aztlan,

and occasionally we’d have nightmares
which bubbled into daytime,

tales we told our classmates in elementary school
who looked at us with disbelief in their bulging eyes,

and tried to bully us with no success.
Abuela, now old, sits in her rocking chair on the porch.

The Lake Monster

The lake monster is an ugly girl
who’s only photographed on rare occasions

and all the doubting thomases
claim she’s a floating log

or the wake of a passing boat.
She’s so shy and her hair is always wet,

she’s dark green and a momentary glimpse
makes you realize how sexy she really is.

Oh of course she’s still ugly
but what do you expect from a lake monster?

Sparrow

Today I woke up and I was a sparrow,
ate worms, flew, scratched fleas,

landed on limbs, was chased by black birds,
was annoyed by the hammering of a woodpecker.

Man is the enemy, his guns, his horrible language,
his chainsaws, his disrespect for anything that flies.

I guess I have too much time on my wings.
I look and listen and take in.

I build nothing, isn’t it curious?
And yet I am quite content.

I eat worms, bugs, breadcrumbs,
I fly and I scratch my fleas.

Did you think I was going to enlighten you?
Friend, I am but a sparrow.

Fixing Abuela’s Robot

I am fixing abuela’s broken robot,
replacing the motherboard which is the size of a cricket,

black and silver lines down its back,
no real eyes but god the things it can see and do.

Abuela uses it for normal stuff,
sends it to the tienda,

out to the jardin to pick the yerba buena,
to hang clothes on the clothesline.

Abuela does not believe in washing machines.
I know, I know, I know what you’re saying to yourself,

then how come she’s got a robot.
Well, all I can say is that abuelas are not to be questioned.

“Abuela, your robot is ready.” I tell her,
and she puts the son of a gun to work right away.

Magic Carpet Ride

Flying over the barrio
on my magic carpet.

I got pulled over
by Homeland Security.

I look too Arab
and they’ve soiled their pants

before they realize
I’m just a Mexican.

I pick up sexy gringas
but they want to vacuum my carpet.

Hey what happened to Chavez Ravine,
they’ve turned the shacks into a parking lot.

I fly too low
and the cops shoot holes in my rug.

The blacks don’t want me
flying over their spiffy ghetto.

Even on a magic carpet
I’m still a Mexican to everyone.

Chicano House Hunting

She said (so seriously) there’s no such thing
as a Chicano-only house.

I said, I beg to differ,
as we peered into the casa

where once the famous Chicano poet
Lalo had lived.

The street was crowded with other houses
just like his.

How could poetry have its roots here
I asked her.

She scratched herself
which I thought was a very unlady-like thing to do

and had no answer
to my previous question.

Soon the barrio spread out
and disappeared into a blinding white light.