Butchershop Quartet

The butcherman
sat upright

his wayward daughter
had run off

with what was left
of puberty

the flaming streets
foreboding

lonely nails
flagged down a taxi

the driver's face
of yellow teeth

a bird's vagina
dangled in the sky

if you raise a daughter
like magma

why not
carve up the butcher paper.

Seascape

Making love
on the beach

sand goes everywhere
your white hair

splashes against the waves
and a sea breeze

squeezes seagulls
out of the sky.

Los Borados

The light-skinned
Mexican family

that lived
at the end of the street

nick-named
Los Borados

by my
abuela

has been erased
like a

half-assed joke
whose sweat pants

have been
pulled down in public

to expose
the word.

In the late 1960s, a wave of activism took 
hold in the Mexican-American community. 
There were protests for equal rights, marches 
for better access to a quality education,  
and demands for greater representation. 
"Que viva la causa," "Long live the cause."

La Causa

La Malinche had
nice nalgas

and her boyfriend
didn't care

if she
had ditched her kids

according to her
they were with Tia Cuca

that stormy, rainy night
they made love as if

there was no tomorrow
a contradiction in terms

since they were
bound to mañanas

by the 
very raza

the rest of us
have forsaken

and with
good cause.

Molcajete

The cherry tomato
of her thighs

like a molcajete
the hot stuff pounded

the lava stone
flakes flying

her pyramids
in the distance

oh Mejico Mejico
he called her name

the volcano
will spew lava

the volcano
will spew stones

until nature
has been satisfied.

Camaro

The vinyl roof
on his Camaro

had rotted away
like mint

why she had become
obsessed with him

no one knew
in a world

full of nobodies
he was her only squeeze

as they cruised
the angry town

with chihuahuas
in tow

the word
not the dog

he in his boxer shorts
she in her satin panties

edible or not
he ate them

that rusty Camaro
was quite a treat.

Mal Mascaras

His abuela knew well
that he was worse than cactus thorns

la zorra slinking
between garbage cans

he'd down
fresh hot tortillas with no respect

like a normal hijo de la
picked cotton

but from a muchacha's blouse
his proclivities were no angels

his abuela knew
his dark side

which had to be
spit out like sandia seeds

yet she loved him madly
her favorite grandson Mal Mascaras.

Blessed Be The Fruit Of Thy Womb

Her name
which starts with the letter E

eats him alive
her white skin

firm as a tongue
her dark hair

makes him delirious
her lips

put forth at night
when sins

become prominent
on the surface

of the moon
he holds her

close to his chest
he searches her wings

with ravenous eyes
indecent with desire

world
be damned.

Recuerdos

The moon floating in her beer
like a light bulb

her girlfriend
tagging along as a test

keep your tears
in the basement

her mother had always told her
the pond behind

her childhood home
broken

the bicycle
she'd gotten at eight

officially her pony
rusted in a shed

prom dresses and skinned knees
a thing of the

mended
ragged edge.

The Big Ape

Tired of big apes
defeated in New York

things girls
should not be concerned with

she dons
a powerful outfit

kills a few
bad guys

screws
her girlfriend

leaps across town
trying to resurrect

King Kong
from the grave.