Chicano Poet

Thursday, April 12, 2012

His First Canary

She was my first canary
said the dark brown man

who pushed the lawnmower
across the face of

well, let's just say Mars.
The girl had stubble

on her legs,
her short shorts were lamps.

Her wild breasts
corralled in their cups.

The lawnmower
made a loud telephone sound.

Sugar was flying around
at the speed of light

in my coffee mug.
A yellow girl

is not routine except
in half-cracked windows

said the lawnmower man
in a sentence

before he left the neighborhood
in this scene.


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