De Colores

Dusted off my tamales
for a speech again:

This lost land
where white clouds

crash down upon our cherry heads
at every turn,

has its own soft selfish rocks to lay its head on,
its own lax view of oppression,

its own victims denied.
The law excludes them

with the same worn excuse.
Take heart,

friends.
The cornhusk

held by the muchacha
with the beautiful eyes reminds us that

la raza's
good at grasping at straws,

but better at making the land confess
its true colors