Chicana
they kept her in
a hole
in the ground for
eight months
she ate there
slept there
and shit there
they gave her
cigarettes
tequila
and dope
a bored guard
taught her
how to play chess
because in Mexico
they
treat you right
- she walked all the
way from Mexico
once falling asleep
in a field
to wake
surrounded by
deer,
to end up living by the
side of the freeway
kicking dope
in the bushes
existing in McArthur park
shitting in her pants,
with
a newborn baby
and a habit
- living in a shack with four kids
two dogs,
unpainted walls and army cot
"just throw the fucking
dishes out
don't wash
the goddamn things"
"I woke up in the street
with no top and my boots on,
I guess they were
to tight to
take. I don't know if they
fucked me, I only got in the car
because they said
they had money.
here I am in America
and one more time
I'm sucking cock
for money"
beginning
her mother through her out
when she was 8
because she was to
pretty
at twelve she didn't
know she was pregnant 'til
she had the baby
32, in Mac Arthur park
with a baby on one tit
shit in her pants
crack pipe
and a monkey that's killin her
she can still get $100
for her ass
inside
I wanted to look
inside: . . .
see what it
feels like to
have your husband arrested
so you can
fuck me in the garage,
while your sister watches
your kids in the car
hollow
one more time
I heard that laugh
the one that says
I did or said
something
totally insane
without being
aware
one more time
I heard that laugh
that says . . .
soon
my phone calls
won't even be
returned
Pokka
romantic insanity
came shuffling in
on claws
sticky with
bitter distaste
sitting at the table,
like common folk
soaked with
rain, the
roaring fire twisting and clutching
about the room
to cast empty shadows
on the floor
ceiling and
shuttered windows
I see that look
in your eyes
and I know
it's time for me to leave
so . . . silken slippers
tango the
two step waltz
out of convenience
predictability
and uncertainty
danger is left where
it belongs
nestled inside a cracked and
broken, Faberge heart
carefully crafted from past
experience
left on the shelf but dusted on
each and every
plausible occasion
'til shinning like a '59
Chevy bumper 'til
the reflection, blinds the eyes
Back to Poetry
Back to Index