Chamaco's Demons

Chamaco's dragon loves tamales,
breathes half-ass fire, suffers from insomnia,

is deftly afraid of fear,
digs a hole in Casa Chica

thinking that's the way to Yale---
but it's the padlock company instead.

His spiny back
is back.

His laugh
is full of smoky phlegm.

When he says I am I am,
you know he is he is.

Oh, how, the knot on his neck
disfigures and delights.

Everest

Chamaco climbed Mt. Everest
thinking there was a cherry on top.

But the Chinese had stolen it
and left the Dali Lama without a cama.

No wonder yetis hate the Chinese leader
Ding Dong Dung.

In the Dead Zone
there is little need for oxygeneration.

From the summit you must plummet
says an old Tibetan dicho.

So Chamaco falls 26 thousand feet.
Sherpas marvel at Chamaco's death-defying iambic feat.

Night Mojo

Chamaco worries about losing his mojo

like the blind sheik.

His smile

going out of style.

His jump

not brown enough.

His barrio

squirting everywhere.

Being mistaken

for Waldo.

His anti-bicicleta

exploding.

His toothpick

tasered for picking teeth.

His mojo on fire

like a Buddhist priest.

His shoes

no longer shinelas.

His bigote

more of a mustache.

His mojo

climbing all over New York City.

Monkey this,

monkey that.

Time tasting

a lot like lime.

Chamaco worries that the night

will pave the way.

He’ll copyright mojo

if he has to.

Que no respeta

his jeta.

His verse

become a rubberband.

His footprints on the moon

wiped clean by pinche Armstrong.

Chamaco worries that aluminum cans

have lost their childhood.

Chamaco worries 

about his invisible scars.

Chamaco whistles

to reassure himself he’s still there.

Like a hot knife through butter

the barrio whistles back.

His concha

too big for his shell.

His enchiladas

son peladas.

Chamaco worries

about his mojo.

His words

escaping him.

His skin

again refusing to be brown.

His barrio

jumping ship.

His loco

not being crazy enough.

His coco

not coconut.

His mojo

is a mess tonight.

When The Barrio

for la erika

When after the barrio was swept clean,
it was still a barrio.

Chamaco walked proudly.
Young and old alike

knew the meaning of it all.
Tortillas smelled good,

puffy, buttered and salted.
Chamaco said a word or two

by Woodlawn Lake.
He strutted,

ventured as far as the Alamo
to spit.

Roamed back home
like a gnome.

Even after the barrio was swept clean
there was enough dirt to make Chamaco king.

The Poet

Being a poet
is like having pimples---
you can't do a darn thing about it.

The Word Bird

Chamaco was a burp
belonging to Wyatt Earp.

Chamaco was as orgasm
belonging to Marilyn Monroe's chasms.

Chamaco was a smile
belonging to Gomer Pyle.

Chamaco was the Army
in " you and what Army?"

Chamaco was the hockey puck
that killed Tupac.

Chamaco was the T-rex
that killed Malcolm X.

Chamaco's sweat
is wet.

Chamaco frowns
on border towns.

And here's a wrinkle,
Chamaco was one of Shirley Temple's dimples.

Chamaco fought the law
and the law nah.

Deserts and rivers
sang like Johnny Rivers.

Chamaco's dark looks
remind us of Katie Jurado.

The sun was Mexican
by all accounts.

Chamaco was a fart
belonging to Humphrey Bogart.

Chamaco was a Martian.
" Marsha Marsha Marsha".

Chamaco wrote the wrong song,
and it was too looooooooooong.

Chamaco had a way with words---
too bad they were all verbs.

Farrah Fawcett Chamaco

What if Chamaco
was Charlie's Angels

and Bosley
Uncle Chale?

And what if the bad guy
was Lalo Delgado,

carving up Jesus
with his knife?

Sexy Chamaco
would track him down

and make America
righteous for gringos again

because only white people
should kill white people.

La Worm

El Louie
alias La Worm

married a light-complexioned
Mexican girl

an asteroid the size of the barrio
whizzed by earth unnoticed

Mayans crouched in the jungle
whispering, "we didn't go anywhere"

the Aztec sun spit blood
Incan gods bathed in gold

La Worm had a heart attack
coming out of a convenience store

the cop pocketed La Worm's lotto ticket
it was a loser too

River Count

The mojado drowned after reading
Lorca

when they found his body
it was as white as a snowman

the Border Patrol pickup truck
brought up the crescent moon

neck like a giraffe
they never identified him

the jungle he had come from
must have left a sweet taste on someone

the river flowed
and shrugged its shoulders

as it snaked
alongside Texas

Star Dreams

Chamaco spilled the beans
upon the stars.

The sizzle
of an Incan king.

Sacred splash of Rosa
in Geronimo Creek.

Mexican gunshots
at the Casablanca Airport.

Bad patron of our galaxy
absent without leave.

Chamaco's favorite tortilla burnt
beyond recognition on the moon.

The muscles of Rosa's hair
bright red.

And star dreams
in a dark jersey.

A Recreation Of The Battle For The Alamo

Chamaco longed for his people
to take up the harp

but they didn't
a serape made of cigarette butts

loved the wrong muchachas
a wing

is not a damn thing
said someone in the audience

at gunpoint
we are all brown

the missing strings
lay open in the sun

the harp lady
sweated up a storm of thighs

Chamaco held his ground
downtown

Chamaco 1950s

Chamaco crash-landed on your planet
and to repair his ship

he must assume your identities
as illegal as that seems

the real yous
must dwell in caves for now

the sheriff is on a wild-goose chase
out in the desert

and only Republicans still insist
I am a meteor

I am bug-eyed
and Chicano

I must look out
for my kind

as soon as I have fixed
my ship

I will give this planet
the slip

and you can go back to being
the real you---

if you can
stand it