Chicano Poet

Saturday, January 26, 2013

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

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.


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