Chicano Poet

Monday, February 04, 2013


The Mexican dead
don't stir you

like a thick broth.
The warm tortillas

on a rickety table.
An old woman outside

gathering clouds,
taking the roundness

from the killer sun
for all it's worth.

Whose broken down
pickup truck is rusting away

and aging well
we're told

and  does not
fan the flames

of her old man
gone all these monstrous years.


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