ALFALFA


It feels good
To have a
Funeral home
Name after myself

Is an act
Of faith
To think
Of death
Everyday

When an engine
Overheats
It dies

That is why
The Arab
Looking guy
Wants a recorder

The motocross rider
Clad in red
Is an accident

Waiting to happen

BLACK URN


Waiting with strong smiles
Attached to lips
And teeth

Because
Poetry is everything
Everything is poetry

Vehicular clusters
Are broken coffins

Shivering sunglasses
On obese faces

I write fast
Without being able to read
What I put down
On the dirt road

It doesn’t matter
If you don’t know
How to read
But it’s important
To know how to see

The black cistern
Is in the mousetrap
It is just like mine
The one stolen

It is better
Than a Trojan Horse
It’s a can of cactuses
Canister of ambushes

JORGE


That’s the name
He gave me
When I asked him

¿Cómo te llamas?

He was reluctant
For little bit
I insisted
Then he
Coughed it up

Jorge
He said

He stopped me at the side
Of the dirt road
And wanted to know
The nature of the trouble
With his uncle

He said he was willing
To shoot a gun
In the defense
Of Pedro el Raton

That might be so
But the truth
Of the matter
Is that he needs
A car more than gun

His rearview mirror
Fell out of place
As he passed me
An when he tried
To leave the scene
After our nice
Little chat
His ride wouldn’t start

I talkedTo him about
God & family

I think
He understood

I liked his courage
So the first assignment
I will give him
Is to cleanout
El ratón´s filthy yard

He might also
Be on fire watch
And put out the flames
On his side
Of the fence

Or better yet
He can help
Them move out

PEST CONTROL


There´s a mouse
In de la Cueva
Time to
Take it out
Water will work
Fire too
A melody
Will make them
Dance away