Chicano Poet

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Cantina Blues

The cantina was rocking with smoke
smoke which had been lived in

night after night
El Perro sat at his usual table

his back against the wall
a good view of the dirty door

he knew which cabrón
had a gun

or a knife
or a gun and a knife

he knew which cabrón
was likely to start a fight

after six or seven beers
he knew which saloon girl

to stay away from
El Perro hated going home

but he went home anyway
bipolar son of la chingada

sometimes he was Mexican
sometimes he wasn’t


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