Fall/1963
                                   La Farah/El
                                   Paso


            Out/Parole*


out, parole,
tasting freedom,
a freedom
that even now hides;
people here
in this hideous factory,
this Farah nightmare,
hate themselves
just as much as pintos do;

women hurry,
tired and old
at 24,
hour upon hour
carrying their drudgery
upon their faces
so that wrinkles
shroud
what should be their youth and beauty; 
even soledad 
was understandable, 
after all, convicts commit crimes, 
but what crimes do the poor commit 
to be sentenced by fate 
to toil out empty lives 
in cavernous factories 
that demean 
what should have meaning? 
pura raza
dies in these monstruous
caverns of destitution;
would hate


to work forever 
like all these salivating 
people
who grovel up to willie.

*also appeared in Selected Poems