Selected Poems

                       

                     time winks again at me, 
                     it clings to my fingers, 
                     strokes my mind and soul, 
                     its scabs laugh and mock me 
                     as it slides on bars 
                     and jiveass hops on my bunk
                     and bounces off the walls and floors.
                     El Paso County Jail, awaiting 
                     trial . . . August 1965 ... armed robbery 
                     charges stare me down.

    Ese, Pues, That's The Way It Is

 

    Ese, pues, that's the way it is.   
    I couldn't take it any longer, 
    it was hell, an ugly hell,
    their manic questions and demands.

    Sí, bato, I pulled that job 
    (and other things besides), 
    I had to do it, 
    for it is idiocy 
    to live like un pendejo.

    Future? There was no future 
    just slaving at La Farah 
    or maybe for the city,
         picking up garbage
         and being but a flunky . . .

    How much time awaits? 
    My lawyer spoke of life 
    or five to ninety-nine . . . 
    he also said
    that I could get the chair . . .

    How do I feel?
         Just empty, yet aware, 
         and it does hurt,
    but chingao, life has always hurt . . .