Thursday, June 14, 2007


The white Cherokee
Honked 3 times

His/her face
Was not as repugnant
As the first time
I saw it

Now it looked more
Like a human being

Even though
It was swollen
Hangover red

The same repetition
A skipping of
The record
A broken record

That needs to
Be broken
A little more

Wednesday, June 13, 2007


They’re smoking cigars
A few cars behind me

2 middle age bozos
Moving to a rhythm
That is hard to fathom

Their domestic truck
Has a sticker on the
Back window’s
Lower left corner

Something about a police
Or Sherriff association

And the whole border
Smells like burnt grass

Even when I crossed
To the other side
After I got inspected
By a polite agent

(It seems these days
They are nicer than ever)

I can still smell that odor
On the grounds of the trendy
Outlet Stores

I could not find
The right insecticide
At the where—house
So I will have to do
The extermination by hand

It is fun
Like when you
Hold a flyswatter
As samurai sword
And the flies become
Evil enemies
Invading the homestead

The tough guy
With the pin up girl
Tattooed on his
Right arm
Helped me
To find the right screw
For my 5000 watt antenna
You can’t beat the price
When it’s free

On my way back
On the scenic road
Dry hills on one side
Sea… ships… and islands
On the other
I spotted a grey
Japanese sedan fast approaching
On my rearview mirror

I thought it was going to pass me
But it slowed down
And rode right next to my car

On the passenger side
There was a beautiful girl
I looked at her
And she seemed shy
Her companion was
Behind the wheel
His face covered with
Bandages and medical tape

Later on
It was suggested
It was her handy work

Tuesday, June 12, 2007


The city of Rosarito
Has hired
A private contractor
For garbage removal

I like the folks that
Work for the city
The best

Because they helped me
With the waste
Gathered by
My front gate

The new guys seem
To be very concerned
They think
They might get
In trouble
If they enter
My street

How should I
Explain to them
I always
Wanted to be
In the cleaning business


His name conveys
A melody
A way to play a tune

Using air and
Soft tissue

Wind instruments!

One would think
He has music
In his veins

His secretary
Said he was not in
Not there

It was surprising to witness
How fast he got back
Perhaps he appeared
As an act of magic

Or maybe he
Is gifted with ubiquity
And can materialize
In different places
At the same time

A true artist!

I thought perhaps
We had the right man
A man that could help
The cause
Of Godliness
Of cleanliness

We are still waiting
To witness
The musical aid

So far there’s
No melody
Our hopes
Are on standby