Chicano Poet

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Mea Culpa 

She was practicing erasure
behind her house.

He had convinced her
she was more than beautiful.

He'd put his hands
on her naked soul.

Still she serenaded him
with her blonde hair.

On his dirty birthday
he kissed greatness.

Made love to her

But the spirit of a kiss
does not transform.

She scrubbed
and scrubbed

as much of him
as she could reach.


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