My Gente

My gente
like a burlap sack

full of flour
pours out of Mexico

dark flour
mixed with Rio Bravo mud

what could be braver
what could be graver

my gente
I do not call you

my gente anymore
stacked tall

in the vicious barrio
broken beer bottle

full throttle
the blood spilled

will be re-filled
by my gente