NUCLEAR BABY


To Ron Cohn and all
those poisoned by what they eat


The biohazard waste man
Rides in the elevator

An open wound
Infecting the candy
From Russia
To England
From Russia
To America

“There’s a lot of people eating our candy”

( From the bins at
the bulk section of the store
[Henry’s Marketplace Chula Vista]
Where you can also
Find poppy seeds)

Ron Cohn said
As we both stood behind the case
Full of dead fish
Dead Meat
Dead Italian Pork

When it came time
To wash the blood off
The cutting tables
I would grab a transparent
Garbage bag
Cut a hole on the bottom
And use it as a rain suit

Because the water
Coming from the hose
Would splash meat & blood
All over the place

The only thing Ron would say

When he saw my wet
Improvised poncho was
“It’s raining”

You can’t work under those circumstances
For too long
Under those conditions
I was bound to get hurt
Soon I was under modified duty
Bagging candy

So I sat there
With a bag in one hand
And candy on the other one

Ron would stop by to stuff candy
In his mouth
I would look at him
And he would look at me and say:

“You get to do this when you
Own a store”

But I found a nuclear baby
Under a shopping cart
It appeared like it had been hit

The Radio is Active

So when you come
To the Marketplace
Thinking Henry’s is good for your life
Think twice and enter
Under you own risk

MARKET [PLACE] OF MASS DESTRUCTION



The smog has lifted
From Point Loma
I can see it
So very clear
All the way down
From Mexico

I can read it
On the newspapers
At the threshold
Of Ron Cohn’s
Chula Vista store

No wonder the fish
Are turning to mush
Inside the case
Cold and smelly pulp
But the sign said
Pacific Snapper

Is the bacteria
In seafood
A biological weapon?

When the engine overheats
It begins to vomit water
But the motor’s strong
Because it has
Thoughts of steel

The client made a comment
On the 3 levels of meat
“It starting to look like Vons”
He said
And I thought:
That’s what customer service
Is all about

The astute observation
Of the red Mercedes
Persuaded the judge
To rule in favor
Of Mr. Cohn’s
Ex—employee

Many are convinced

The best cars in the world
Are those
German Hondas

A (HENRY’S) MARKETPLACE
IN CHULA VISTA CALIFORNIA


To David Arias


What thoughts I have
Of your stores tonight
Ron Cohn
For I walked under your surveillance cameras
Self-conscious of the ingredients of
A Whole Foods meal
With Wild Oats
For dessert

In my working class distress
I see dreams on the windows
Of your refrigerators
Where you do not
Become richer
With the blood
Of third—world laborers

I saw you Ron Cohn!
Prosperous, lonely & fat
Spying on your customers
Conniving ways
To get more of their money

Avarice breeds danger
Therefore the police
The firefighters
The paramedics
The soldiers
The doctors
And the nurses
Walk very carefully
On your floors

Greed invites death
And the
Dance instructors
The husbands
And the wives
The handicap
The young & the old
The rich & the not so rich
All those beautiful
And innocent children
That have fallen victims
Of your insatiable
Quest for profits
Walk inside your walls
Under your roof
Next to your expired products
Trying not to get hit
By a store cart
Or slip on the
Imagery of health

Blood continues
To drip out
From the packages
Of dead meat
Staining your refrigerated shelves

The smell of decay
Continues to emanate
From the “fresh wild catch”
That is for sale
Inside your new case

Where are we going to go Ron
When the doors of your stores close?
I remember the poor baker
Repeating your words:
“Nothing last forever”
Every day has
A 9th hour

Mexico 2007

MEAT DEPARTMENT MANAGER
@
HENRYS MARKET PLACE
CHULA VISTA



Enrique
I know you
Are used to
Sinaloa style work

But you must understand
Too many accidents
Are not good
For business

Do you expect
Your subordinates
To work
Without fingers
Or hands?

I know you
Are feeding
Ron Cohn
With profits

But greed
Is a never ending addiction

Consider the words
Of the weeping judge
If it smells
Throw it away
All of it
The whole fish

ABULÓN


Al calamar
Lo empanizaron
Y lo dejaron frito

Como si se tratara
De milanesa

Los camarones
De la tienda
Vienen de Tailandia

¿Y las semillas
de amapola?

Los clientes
Quieren comer
Abulón grande

CABEZA DE ACERO


Hormigas
Cucarachas
Policías
Ambulancias
La tienda
Es un cuadrilátero

SEEDS OF FIRE


The international workers
Of agriculture
Defy the linoleum

Their seeds
Penetrate the floors
Of commerce

Shoppers become
Firewalkers

The rain
Makes them grow

There’s something
Fishy in the
Seafood case

More people prefer
Saint Peter’s Fish
Is nicely frozen
And it doesn’t
Have an odor
Of death

SAN VALENTÍN


You may be beatified
But I talked to
A dance instructor
That takes my
Breath away
When she stands
In front of me

And she’s not
Even dancing

I didn’t know
There was
Such pleasure
On the borders
Of final moments

MARY BETH ARKELL
HUMAN RESOURCES MANAGER
FOR HENRYS MARKETPLACE
CHULA VISTA


Mary Beth
What a beautiful name you posses

The needs of the store

Are not only illegal
But immoral

A need
Of addiction
For profits
At the expense
Of the blood
And severed limbs
Of workers
Is unlawful
And obscene

Oh Mary!
It was not
Always like this
There was a time
When a verbal agreement
Was enough

But suddenly

David Arias
(Store Manager)
&
Ron Cohn
(Store Owner)

Became sons of...

Hesitation

There was a time
When the manipulation
Of the hours
Did not take place

The day I received
Your letter
I was informed
The men’s urinal
Was overflowing

PLASTIC BAGS


Are choppers
And butchers
The same?

I liked the one
With blue
Tinted windows
Green bodywork
Trade instruments
To its left and right

At the marketplace
Everybody wants
The large product
But they don’t like
To purchase ice

I place the bags
On the scale
To do away with
The difference
And punch
The numbers
Written on
Each of them

THE STORES OF RON COHN


Roses are red
Violets are

Sometimes blue
Henrys Marketplace in
Chula Vista & Bonita
Are bad for you

Lakeside too

FLIGHT DECK CONTROL


This room
In the ship
Is as solemn
As an altar
A holy of holies
Nobody speaks

But
The captain
&
The navigator

Pass the Cohn
Back and forward
To one another

IN NATIONAL CITY CALIFORNIA
A COP WITH A FAMOUS NAME


Just like Dumas
The French writer
But with a motorcycle helmet
And weird looking
BMW bike
He said his name was
Greg Dumas
But I kept thinking
Of Craig’s list
And the motorcycles for sale
At that webpage

I guess I should thank him
For not
Having my car towed
Even though the last fellows
That did that
Did not faired that well

He said the PINK infraction
Was a warning
I promise I will not forget

I don’t understand
These apparitions
People with guns and badges
And surnames of famous writers
It’s definitely
Better than Hollywood
I appreciate them
For what they are

National City
Is a Cholo town
But this fellow Dumas
Looks more like
A summer camp preacher

When I pay the ticket
Will I get credit for him?

Just before we got pulled over
I was asked if the police
Are good or bad
And all I could answer is
Ones are good
Others are bad

When we drove away
I was asked if you were
The good kind
Or the bad kind
And there was a debate
I was voting for bad
The children were
Voting for good
And since we live in
A democracy
They won
You are good policeman

Those who are good
Are put to work
So my vote is in
I think you are
A hard worker and
You have a lot
To offer

You said Mayor Inzunza
Got voted out
Guess what?
You got voted in

I told Dumas he has
The last name
Of a famous writer
He said there was no relation
I looked at the PINK ticket
He wrote me
And told him
He wrote it very well

The navigator
You know who he is
You took his name
And age

He pointed at the burning cigarette
On the sidewalk
While you where talking
On your walky-talky
Saying Chula Vista
When I very clearly
Told you Mexico

He prophesized there was
Going to be a fire
I could see the smoke
Raising form the concrete
Dancing with the wind

FAMILY REUNION


The very first time
I saw a pig get killed
I was
4 or 5
Year old

There was a huge
Family reunion
It might have been
A weeding
Or a birthday party

I don’t recall
What I do remember
Was the disgusting pig
Laying on the dirt

It looked like
A lethargic giant

Next to the swine
There was a bonfire
Being started
The women were
Holding the
Bronze pots
Where the animal
Was going to be cooked

One of the grownups
Pull out a pistol
A shot it
What a horrible
Noise came forth
From the other
White meat

But it did not died
It’s skin was so
Thick that the
Bullet did not
Made it through

Then an old—timer
Pulled out his knife
And went to work

The screams stopped
Quickly and
The festivities continued

REQUEST


At the store
A customer asks
For pork
Without the spices

But butchers
Like to
Sell them
With the casings
They come
In links

LAS VÍAS DEL TREN


Ding dong
Ding dong
Ding dong
Cantan las campanas
Destellos en rojo
Pasa un cholo
Manejando el trolley
Oprime el claxon

TORCIDO DE CHOCOLATE


The border agents
Are almost there

They are about
To kiss
The hands
Of efficiency

Today I was stopped
Questioned
Searched

Sent to secondary inspection
Searched & questioned again
And then released

And I still had time
To stop at the donut shop
To eat another delicious
Chocolate twist
Sugar tastes best
In the morning

BACKWARDS


Ron Cohn
You didn’t have to lie
You didn’t have
To say you are Catholic
It’s okay if you are Muslim
Or Jewish
Buddhist
Hindu
Or whatever
I wanted to help you anyway
I was actually
Starting to like you

I knew something
Was wrong when
I saw you wearing
Your sweater backwards
And as a friendly gesture
I let you know

Just like I let you know
About the bugs in
Your store

And since we are
On the subject
Of knowing
Your stores are also
Backwards

And no matter how
Much ice
You put on
The dead fish
They’re not going
To resurrect

You want me
To speak to your wife?

I thought
Since you are now wearing trousers
(green ones)
You are the man
To talk to
Are you?

And even though
I am living below
The poverty level
With the wages
You are paying me
I still can’t help
And tell you
Not to change
The color of
Your shirt
More than once a day

You might start
To look like food

I tell you Ron
And the Lord is my witness
Your store is filled
With those who
Live by the following motto
Eat or Die!

STANDING RIB


¿Dónde aprendió?
I asked
¿Dónde aprendiste tú?
He replied
En mi casa
I said
Yo también
He responded
But he said it
With a
Patriarchal authority
I laughed
And then he said
Está fácil

The lady who ordered
The standing rib
Had a parish smile
When she saw the package
She said
Doesn’t it look beautiful?

Most of the time
The finish product
Has that feature
But on the bloody table
It looked alive to me

The Spanish speaking customer
Also ordered spicy pork
He wanted the fresh ones
(Pink ones)
Made a comment
About the old ones
(Darker ones)
I was going to tell him
The more seasoned they are
The better they taste
I kept quiet

INDISTINGUIBLES


El árbol
Que está por mi casa
Se sacude violentamente

Escucho el canto
De los pajaritos
Música de procreación

Uno de ellos
Sale disparado
Como una saeta

El halcón lo persigue

No era un canto de amor
Era un grito de guerra

A veces los sonidos
De los deseos
Y las batallas

Son indistinguibles

CUTTING DEAD FISH


Upper class customers
Similar to the ones
Whose pictures are
Being taken by the army
At Mexican checkpoints

They ask for
The skin to come off

Any knife
Will have to do
And I use
Hand armor
Only when provided

A dangerous profession
With a low wage

The store manager
With his leisure boat
And brand new house
A pick up truck
A sports utility vehicle
A Spanish last name
David Arias
But without the Spanish language
¿No habla español?
He doesn’t speak Sundays either
The day of the Lord
The 7th day
The day of the sun

BEHIND THE CASE


I sold
2 spicy
Pieces of swine

To a customer
With the profile
Of an Indian
On his chest

He was happy
He gave me a tip

He placed
The skin
Of a frog
On the counter

CBP AGENT ROMAN
AND OTHER AGENTS


Roman
You are a poet
I like the way
You pronounce the word
“Asshole”

With that accent
Of yours

How much does
The US government pays you
To insult Citizens?

Roman
Do you like your job?
Do you like your name?

I think it sounds
Kind of cool
Kind of like
Roman Meal

Roman
What happened
To the pledge to
The traveler?

Are you trying to
Synthesize it
With just
1 word?

Roman
If I could say
“Asshole”
Better than you can
May I have?
Your job?

By the way
In Spanish
It’s CULERO

Why can’t you be
Like Agent Deogracias
That guy is real nice
Very professional

Roman
What’s the matter
Was it too cold?
Too hot?

Agent Cervantez
What an inspiration
Sort of like
Don Quijote
But in a female version
She wrote about her name
On the
Hunter Orange Slip
She likes her name
Perhaps a little bit too much

Roman
Why don’t you like yours?

TIJUANA BUS


The trombone player
And the
Guitar player
Filled the bus
With melodic intentions

They sang:

“We are jamming
In the name of the Lord”

They did it
Very well
It was
Good enough
To dance

Nice kids
My trip
Became pleasant

COLD



Standing in line
Waiting to cross again
It’s like being
On the field
But without a rifle

It’s cold
Like it is
In the mountains

The game here
Is different
It’s still a matter
Of patience
Waiting for

The right moment

For a good harvest
For the beloved family

Instead of knives
And cartridges
We have notebooks
Pens and books
But we can also read:

Faces
Eyes
Movements
Minds

Our backpacks
Carry our
Different personalities
Useful identities
Of border crossers

ENCRYPTION


At the radio station
The poet
Sitting next to me
Opened her notebook
And began to read
The most beautiful poem

Her voice
Traveled through
The air

I marveled at
The way she deciphered
So quickly
Her handwriting

When I open
My notebook
Sometimes I have
To guess at what
I have written

ANOTHER CUSTOMER CRACKS
AT RON COHN’S STORE


The lady with the
Red white and blue badge
Used the bagged chickens
As cannonballs

Consumer rage
The allegation
False advertisement

She cursed the building
Launching from her shopping cart
Retail grenades
In the 4 directions of greed

Even the butcher
Was frightened

It was here she met insanity
This place is
A mind criminal

Mr. Cohn likes to see smiles
But that poor lady
Was not smiling

The little boy
Who got hurt
In your marketplace
Was not smiling
He was crying

His tears watered
The seeds of dignity
The tree of freedom
The cries of the poor
The suffering of the exploited

The police officers
Standing next to the case
Are not smiling either
They see inside your store
With moon eyes

Ron
You said you like to see me smile
This I can tell you
It’s a water smile
A rain smile

GLOBAL WARMING


“It looks great but you should put some ice in the case”
Ron Cohn giving instructions to the head butcher.



All the cases in the world
Are melting the icebergs
On the poles of the planet

It’s because of polluters
Trying to bring back to life
(Dead fish)
Something that is already rotten

The left hand guitar player said:
“Is okay to eat fish because
They don’t have any feelings”

House wives
Ask for antibacterial soap
Their hands bloodied
From handling the product
(Dead Meat)
That might transfer the madness
From a cow
To a human being

The vegetarians say
“Meat is murder”

The experts say that
The warming of the planet
Will increase
Even the Jewish mystics
Have prophesied
That the world will end
With fire

ORGANIC DEATH
HENRYS MARKETPLACE
CHULA VISTA


A new year of work
Pushing Ron Cohn’s
Cadavers on dirty carts

Is blood as usual
My joint does not hurt
Yet it feels tight
In a bizarre way

I am blissful to see
The foundations
Being built with
Straight lines

It was cold in the freezer
Death is cold
Morgues are cold
I work amongst the dead

Dead fish
Dead meat
Dead buyers
Dead sellers

Hope never died
That beautiful girl
Survived because

The fire in the pupils
Of the sun—eyed people
Is better than
And electric blanket

CBP BARAJAS


You are the agent
With the best surname
I am surprised you asked
About the Ace of Spades
With a family—name like that
You should know about it

My first thought was right
You don’t seemed like
And organic type of guy

But I tell you Barajas
I just work with
Those products
I am not crazy about them

You said you want to leave

That place early
That you won’t leave
With an empty stomach
I don’t blame you

Perhaps I can help you with that
South of the border
We have some good Carne Asada

By the way
It was nice to see you working out

I would like to invite you
To partake of pork & beans
The infamous frijoles rancheros
They taste like heaven if
You add
Spicy salsa
But make sure to drink lots of water
To help your stomach deal
With the aftermath

If you want to skip the beans
And go straight for the pork
I know many spots where
We can hit delicious
Tacos de adobada

They said pork is not good
For your health
But it sure is fun
Having them for dinner

Oh and the hemp products
You were asking about
I found them on your side
Of the border

Why don’t you pay a visit
To Henrys Marketplace Chula Vista
3rd and J
Can’t miss it
It is par excellence Organic Store

HAPPY NEW YEAR
AGENT HAYNES


Florida is not a flower
It’s best to forget about it
Better take care of
That traffic
Congestion is not good
The arteries are not
At fault for your paranoia

Subject to a 100% inspection
This is not only a number
Or a mathematical symbol

I don’t understand
Your obsession
With Florida

Fishing has more flavors
In the Pacific
Fishing in Mexico
Is fun

Maybe we should
Go fishing together
I would be glad
To teach you Spanish

Once in Mexico
You can see what
Traffic is all about

And then perhaps
We could contemplate
The meaning of those lyrics
“If you waste time
Time will waste you”

You were right
You spoke the truth
The department of cars
Was closed

A TOWER


He said
My name is Torres
And he was adamant
On giving me
A ticket

His partner was the good cop
When he couldn’t convince
His coworker to forget
The whole incident
He walked away

I followed Torres
As he spoke codes
Into his radio

I immediately thought
About chess
And how a tower
Can be overcome
By a pawn

If it is
In the right place

A horse is handy too
Because they can jump
Through traffic

Bishops speak
With poetry

Then he said
It’s okay
You can go
I am not going
To give you
An infraction

The truck that hit me
Got burned
It broke my turn signal
But his engine overheated
While on the line

He made it into
The yellow poles
American turf
But his ride
Was burning

He was behind me
A cool CBP agent
Clad in blue
Gave him instructions
On what to do
To temporarily
Fix the situation

I watched them
On my rearview mirror
Sticking their heads
Under the hood
Steam all over them

DAVID BOWIE'S WORDS

Planet Earth

Is blue

And there's nothing

I can do

I AM AN ALIEN


Okay okay
I am an alien
And my space ship
Is blue

I can cross borders
By land
By sea
And air

Ozone layer borders
Acoustic borders

I am an alien
But I understand
Fire
Wind
Water

Yes I am an alien
And you didn’t have
To remind me
Using the green
Salad box

I known this
For a long time

But I thank you
For making me smile
On that awkward day

THE ELECTRICIAN


I saw him working
On the neighbor’s
Electric meter

I remember when
We used to go
To school together

He liked punk rock
And he wore a
Denim jacket
With a message:

La sociedad
No tiene cura

I liked that
And I liked him
He always seemed
A nice person

Now he’s repairing
The electric box
Owned by the
Bizarre doctor
The wrong kind
Of healer
Friend of the
Impound yards
The kind of MD
That makes car’s disappear

I asked him if the lady doctor
Goes to his church and
He said no
She works at the
Oasis Hospital
The place I hold responsible
For the contamination
After the motorcycle accident

He mentioned she has a lot
Of Jewish things inside her house
That would explained
The old guy
Who looks like
Bob Dylan
Who wears a hat
And likes to
Spin a key ring
With his thumbs

He looks to old
To be dancing in that fashion
After a certain age
Even a hat
Is not enough protection
For the sun

I asked my childhood acquaintance
If he understands solar panels
He replied that if
They came with an instruction manual
He might be able to figure them out

He looked nervous
It’s okay
We all need
To start somewhere

THE HOLIDAYS


There’s a cool wind
Coming from the north
You feel it when your
Are walking

When you walk south
It’s not on your face
But the sun is
Right on your eyes

North wind
On your shoulders
Heat in your eyes

I like Christmas Eve
In Mexico
I like Christmas
In Mexico

Feliz Navidad…

You can walk on
The beach
In shorts
Without feeling cold

NUNCA TE OLVIDAREMOS

TÚ ERAS MEJOR QUE

SANTA CLOUS

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

THERAPY


I want to start 07
With a right kick
Very good said the doctor
And signed the forms

I took the slip
And drove south
Towards the
Organic Marketplace

I found a manager
Sitting at a desk
Stoically contemplating
A store sale add

I said to him
This slip is for you
And handed him the
Piece of paper
He said
Thank you sir

I asked how was
The Christmas party
And he answered: good

You knew about it right?
No
Yes you did
No I didn’t
I was told you knew about it
That’s not correct

Hopefully Mr. Cohn
Can make it up
To me

He changed subjects

I wonder why they
Are not letting you
Come back to the store?

Right now I am on
Physical Therapy
Concentrating on
Endurance & Strength

I carried on:

I am not using a cane anymore
I feel more confident now
You are looking at a
New and improved 1
When I come back
It will be
(Like the popular figure of speech)
With a vengeance

An Incubus Leaving Two Sleeping Women
Henry Fuseli

THE BEAUTIFUL
TURQUOISE EYES
PETITE ITALIAN GIRL


I worked on a trampoline
The objective was to regain
Strength and endurance
In my joint
The radio was close
To my work station
Music dancing out
From the speakers

I like this song…
Do you like incubus?

I just had to ask her:
Do you know what
An incubus is?

No

Do you want to know?

Yes

An incubus is a spirit that
Comes to women an night
And has intercourse with them

God!

I know somebody that used
To be visited by 1 of those
It’s very interesting because
It never bothered her boyfriend
But it was different on their
Weeding night

What happened?

Her husband took off running
He never returned
Very unfortunate
Very horrible

She said she would
Look it up
Then she grabbed
A dictionary

I had to tell her
To be ware of
Paper dictionaries
Because by the time
They publish them
They are usually obsolete
To get the latest updates
Is best to go online

DELICADOS


I stopped at the store
The other OXXO
The one that
Usually has change

I asked for a pack
Of cigarettes
The usual

Delicados con filtro

I paid a dollar
In quarters and
Twenty something cents

In pennies

She said they don’t
Accept that many pennies
She added that
Customers don’t want them
Banks don’t want them
The only banks
That take them are on
The other side of the border

She gave me
The cigarettes
And retuned the 1 cent coins
She kept he quarters

That’s okay
I like Lincoln

NARCO—TUNNEL


The Mexican government
Seized the house
With the tunnel
The one used for
Underground traffic

It ran below the
Tijuana border
Into a “duty free” store
In California

Not inside the store per se
But its parking lot

The tunnel is now closed
Now the house
Is an artist’s refuge

Someone thought
It would be a good place
(The balcony)
To read poetry

A few feet away
On the California parking spaces
The American poets
Read back to us
Using megaphones

The guy with the
CNN microphone
In his hand
Seemed uneasy
Perhaps it was
The burning sage
Or he was
Scared of heights

The wind was cold
And there was
An ugly dog
That I liked

FRENCH


To learn
Or not learn

The teacher
Is lovely
She poured wine
In my glass
And told me
I will
Like the
French desserts

Showed me
The couch
I could use
To watch
French cinema

Is there a
French alliance?
A French connection?
A French allowance?

HEAT


The radiologist said
She is not afraid of radiation
Because it’s everywhere

Then I will
Not be afraid
Of my black box
That tiny
Plastic brick

That burning
Supply of power

Because it keeps me
Warm in
The hard winter
It makes
The nights friendly

Who would think
That something that
Causes global warming
Is a great substitute
For love

RADIO STATION


When the interview
Was about to begin
We saw through the
Studio window
An Eagle eating a Mouse
On top of an electric poll

We were so high
We could see
Tijuana & San Diego
Anointed with smog

When they asked me
What is poetry
I pointed to
The bird’s beak
Shards of
Bleeding flesh
Hanging from it

STRETCHES


The therapist stretched my leg
Not in the usual way
This time it didn’t hurt

I thought about
The old slogan
“No pain no gain”

So I told him
Hey man
As your were bending
My knee
You didn’t twist
My foot towards
The left
It didn’t hurt
Like it usually doeswhen you do
Those maneuvers

He proceeded to explain
How wrong it is to
Do it like that
How you can do damage
To the meniscus

It’s nice to know
He was trying to rip
My meniscus apart
A lesson in stretching

FRIDAY NIGHT


Literary awards
Granted by the State
I liked the wine
The potatoes and caviar
Where worth the taste
The governor seems
To be a smiley guy

I still remember
Martin’s words
You should enter the contest
I am sure you would win
I thought about it
And found myself translating
Like a crazy my
English poems into Spanish

It was madness
So I stopped
The conversion project
Such operations
Should not be done in haste

So I concentrated on the event
On the faces of the winners
As their names were pronounced
On the PA
On how the blue governor
Smiled on them

A high point
A winner with a mini—skirt
She walked up
On the podium
Blue glances at her face
But her underwear
Was black

Then time came to go
Read at the tavern
So we drove in a convoy
It was a starless night

When I was at the door
Chatting with a
California photographer
A government sedan
Double parked next to us
2 fellows came out
The driver looked scared
And the passenger
Dressed in black
His face like that of a car
Wanted to be friendly
He said hello and smiled
Pat me on my arm
And walked in

And it turns out
It was his day view
He read a couple of poems
Not bad for a bureaucrat
He read love poems
And I wonder if those poems
Were really his
Or was he just following
The script

VISUAL THERAPY


You look
So good
In black

You are
Thin & tall
A celestial diplomat

You have
Long dark hair

It falls down
Like Amazonian waters

You are an
Oceanic beauty

TIJUANA EXERCISES


Getting back in shape
Recuperation of
Survival limbs

Cross—training dream
My sights fixed
On the market

The RX
Is for
Staying power
I think that’s

Write—on!

The celebrated author
Said endurance is
Better than talent

Building resistance
Like a happy dam
Glorious reservoir

4 POETS ON THE SIDEWALK


The crowd was watching
The soccer game on the tube
They were pondering not
On literature
And that was fine because
The were happy
They hold their beers
On their tables and had
Their glances trained on
The televisions that
Hang from the corners
Of the tavern

The team with the
The right colors won
By this time I was on
A different place
A restaurant not a cantina
And the poet had coffee
And I had a corona

Then it was time to
Go back to the tavern
To begin the reading
I was eager to listen to
This coffee poet read his poems

There are different types of poets
There’s coffee poets
Beer poets
Wine poets
And liquor poets
There’s also dope poets
But nowadays dope poets
Are no good
Maybe because today’s dope is bad

Whatever the case may be
I remembered how this coffee lyricist
Had a particular message for the Vatican
When he read at festival of literature
Something that stimulated my attention
So I wanted to hear more of his work

He paid the waitress and when
We were about to leave
I stopped to say hello to
A lady with a hole in her eye

She said the medicine she took
Was so strong that it burned her eye
I told her I would pray for her

By this time the Vatican versifier
Was reading some material
At the magazine rack
We stepped out the door
To an avenue of revolution

And we saw the other 2 poets
Walking our way
The queen of hearts
And the psychologist

We walked
The 4 of us
As one
She said
Who would think
That 4 poets would march
On this walkway

TIJUANA MORNING


He said
Wake up
His hair was
Nicely combed
He was wearing a
Bright red sweater
And blue pants
As his uniform

His olive skin
A product of
A perfect combination
In a night of fire

He was
Standing upright
And he was
Looking at me
In a nonchalant mode

SOFA DREAM


As I sleep
On the sofa
My 5 year old
Puts a blanket
Over me

And I dream
Of better times

Of wheels turning
And of
The girl
Who liked
To blow my face

She had a good smile
And garlic breath

THE STREETS
OF TÍA JUANA


Your touch
Full of tender
Carnitas

Your hands
Are music

Your skin
A melody

Bombastic perhaps
But nonetheless
A song

You are healing
You are getting better

I have learned
To write
On the lines
Of your body

A love story

The disease
Is going away
The medicine
Is working

A POETIC INCURSION IN TIJUANA

Daniel Charles Thomas, Juan José Martínez, Brandon Cessmat.

THE GYPSY


I was going to be the best
I could be
But then she came along
And sat at next to me

Or was it I
That sat next to her?

We both were
Drinking microbrews
This was before
It was so very trendy

And she would rub
My leg with her leg
Under the table

So I thought
What the hell
I will kiss her
And I did

She was blonde
And had big breasts

We got out
Of the bar
And inside
Her French car

We drove towards
The hills
The her apartment

We undressed
And laid on her bed
And I worked
And worked
Then she pulled
A maneuver
A professional move

I was stuck there
Like a dog
And I couldn’t
Get out
It was till every
Drop of juice
Was extracted
That I was let loose

I look at the rubber
And noticed
It had ripped

Something that
Only happened
With my first wife

And as I was dressing
She looked at
My shoes
(Nikes)
On the floor
Next to her bed
And she said
My dad has
A pair like those

SEREIA


Your beauty heals
The broken bones
Of the city
By the ocean

Sereia
Your presence
Has the power
Of wonder
Of miracles
In the flesh

Sereia
You are
The definition
Of exquisiteness

Sereia
Your touch
Opens the universes
Your skin
Is the antidote
That turns ugliness
Into delightfulness

Sereia
Are you real
Or are you
A vision
Of dying man
In the search
Of love

Sereia
You have the power
Of grace
You charm
The 7 seas

Sereia
You existence
Is an exotic remedy

CBP AGENT RAYA


You got a haircut
Don’t look like
Jose Feliciano no more

No doubt
You’re a percussionist

You bang that
Metal computer table
And make it sound
Like a cowbell

You still wear
The dark shades
And that’s okay
Because I know
You could make
Folks dance

You never say
A word to me
That’s fine
Your drumming
Speaks very well

I play guitar
Want to play
In a band?

THE DOCTOR
WRITES ON MY CHART



I stepped outside
To smoke a cigarette
And a shooting star
Fell on
The toll road

It made me remember
That silver bullet pen
The 1 you can
Use to write
Upside down

The 1 used
To write instructions

The medicine man wrote
On my eyes:

When you ready
To go back
Work on a desk

Just what
The doctor ordered….

CHANGE OF STORES


The headline reads:

Business men
And narcos
Flee from Tijuana
To San Diego

I am browsing
The newspaper
Wondering if
This exodus
Includes the folks that
Like to wear masks
And carry long arms

The ones that
Like to
Frighten reporters

I just had bought
A pack of Delicados
And I kept browsing
The newspaper

The one
That claims
It moves
Like the wind

Then the old woman
The one that never
Has any change
Said I could buy it
At the cash—register

I told her
I had not
Decided yet

She said
I was taking
A long time

I told her
I was a regular
A faithful customer
That if she felt that way
I would leave
To never return

And the she said
Something like:

But Sir….

And I said
It is over
And I waved goodbye
And gave her the
Best smile I could

And the lady
In the phone booth
Held the device
Close to her ear
And she looked
She listened
She whispered

COMMUNION


On 2 consecutive
Days of the sun

We did not drive
On the road next
To the crowns
Floating on the water

Those cosmetic details
On the Pacific Ocean

1 time it was
Because it was raining

The 2nd time it was
Because of
The common cold

But I know that soon
Fire will be
Served in a spoon
And the children
The precious family
Will be happier
And healthier

Strong enough
To kill infections

METEOR SHOWER

OR
PARA TIJUANA



The Lower California
Still is the
Wild West

The inauguration
Of the historic building
Was received
With a surprise

When the
City mayor said
Para—Ti—juan—na
Fire—works
Roared in the city

We all felt
The vibrations
Under our feet

It looked
Like Bagdad
Under attack
Iraq with
A Tijuana accent

Rays of light
Shooting up
In the darkness
Of the sky

Trying to hit
Invisible invaders

With the first bang
There was
A collective feeling
Of an assassination attempt

And everybody said
Ahhhhhhh!
But when the
Night sky lit up
Thoughts were different

There were
So many explosions
And many flashes

The smoke moved
Amongst the
Parked vehicles and
The stunned people
It dance to the tune
Of confused
Car alarms

TOOLS OF THE TRADE


1 of my doctors
Writes with
An astronaut pen

He said
He lost many
But has managed
To keep
The one
He’s using to
Write on my file

I told him I used
To have one
That I purchased
In the Northwest

I got mine
In an outdoor store
He got his
On the internet

I told him
I am concerned
Because the pens
Don’t come
With clips

He explained they
Come in
Many different models
And added
That he likes his
“my bullet”
He called it

And it does look
Like a silver bullet

He gave me
A new cane
Told me
I can use it
To hit

We both smile
And when we
Were parting ways
He said
Enjoy your new stick

APOLOGY


I am sorry Aaron
I knew it was
Your shot
But I went ahead
And fired my rifle

I could see disenchantment
Taking possession
Of your European features

You didn’t seemed
Like the vengeful type
But I had my 45 ready
Just in case

There were 2 of them
One was for you
And the other one
For me

And you were
So professional
And courteous
You gave me
The first shot

I raised my 30’06
And looked
Through the scope
And I saw
Behind the crosshairs
The gracious silhouette
Of God’s creation

And I breathed in
And slowly began
To exhale as
My index finger
Slid down and
Caressed the trigger
And did not pull it
But I did press it

And the experience
Was so intense
That I didn't
Heard or felt
The powerful detonation

And about
A football field away
I saw my prey jump
And runaway

But its friend stayed
Right there
It did not move
It froze
So you aimed
And concentrated

I quickly worked
The bolt—action
Aimed and fired
Once again
And I missed

We both watched
How it ran away
Gracefully leaping
Through the
Beautiful northwest country

So we walked down
The hill quietly
Moving slowly
In the dawn

And we found
The blood
And we followed
The red trail
And I knew
This kill was mine

And I was
Going to explain
My reasons
For the certainty
Of death
But I decided
To keep quiet

We found
My game
Under a tree
A complete harvest

And I thought
I had missed
And hit the ground
And that made him jump

No!
The spirit of
The bullet
Lifted that
Unit of proteins
In the air
And it lifted
My sensations
Even higher

THE REPORTER


He was stopped
By masked men
With machine guns

I thought they were
Going to kidnap me
He said

I tried to reassure him
I told him
That if he’s not
A millionaire
He has nothing
To worry about

They asked him
About his profession
And he told them
He’s a journalist

He should tell
To the ones
Pointing guns at him
That he covers the arts
And not the
Police department
Not local politics

QUICK BREAKFAST


An efficient
Mexican breakfast
1 that is fast
And nutritious
Is roasted chicken

It doesn’t matter
If it is cold
Refrigerators are
Meant for those purposes

What is important
Is how the tortilla
Is heated

Don’t use a comal
Place the tortillas
Directly on the burner

Propane is better
Than electricity

Let the blue flame
Caress them

Till the aroma
Of the smoke
Hits your nostrils

Then turned them over
You need calluses
On your hands
Otherwise you
Will burn yourself
And become
Part of the meal

Don’t forget
The spices

Before I fail to remember
There’s nothing better
In the morning
Than the aftertaste
Of black coffee
And hot peppers

SCHOOL


I am inside my son’s classroom
Sitting next to a bizarre woman
Who is feeding a baby

It was a meeting
For parents
And we signed our
Children’s report cards
And I remember my years
In this same classroom
How we used
To play games
And how dangerous
They really were

Because when the kids
Started bringing their
Parents live rounds
I managed to get
My hands on
Some 22’s

And we would throw
Stones at the cartridges
And they would sound
Like firecrackers
And the bullets would
Fly away amongst
The children
In the playground

And then Felipe
Covered his
His right temple
With his hand
And there was
A little blood

The bullet
Grazed him
But in a matter
Of minutes
He was playing again

The kid that
Threw the stone
At the bullet
Got expelled

Years later
Other friends
Were hit
They were not playing
They were working
They were not
As lucky

GOD
THE BORDER PATROL
AND I



Sun & wind
A dried
International border

The inspector asked me
If God covers
My serial number
I answered
I don’t know

But I considered
His question
A nice thought

He said that maybe
I placed Him there
As to block the view
To the number

I said no
I told him:
I put Him there
So you can see Him

The agent
Looked to his left
And said thank you

VENTANA EN EL CIELO


Destruye tus
Tarjetas de crédito
Usa los restos
Para hacer púas y
Tocar la guitarra

Desconecta tu teléfono
Para comunicarte
Escribe notas
O cartas
O poemas
O besos
O has el amor

Conoce a tus vecinos
Es mejor
Para ti
Y para ellos también
En una emergencia
Podrás usar sus teléfonos

Tu automóvil
Sólo para urgencias
Acostúmbrate a
La bicicleta
Existirás longevo
Una fuente de salud

Evita la televisión
Los comerciales
Y tendrás menos espejismos
Menos dolor y confusión

No te creas
De los fatalistas
Los narcisistas
Los hedonistas
Los racionalistas

No les hagas caso
Déjalos pasar
Como aviones
De guerra con otro destino

For those of you that read Spanish..... An incentive to support the arts south of the border.

THE LAST CBP AGENT


God bless you
You looked like
Jose Feliciano
With your dark glasses

You were singing
And banging against
The metal
That holds your
Computer monitor

You seemed in
In good spirits
And when I
Saw you and
Heard you
I became
More optimistic

I can’t forget
That image man
So today
I grabbed
My guitar
And sang
The song

You know
That famous tune
The 1 named
Feliz Navidad

SERENDIPIA


La cofradía ya no es secreta
Porque el afecto es como
Un avión que se queda
Sin combustible en nubes hinchadas
De acido y azufre

Y los mensajes son falsos
Como la pared
Con el orificio por donde
Atravesaron los últimos
Impulsos de tus besos

Las sonrisas rotas
Son signos de
Un acercamiento inevitable
Encuentro catastrófico
Copulación de
Corazones muertos

El más feroz animal
Consume a sus dueños
Porque los frenos
Nunca funcionaron
Nunca los activaron
Y ocurre como
El tigre o león
O elefante
Que mata a su amo
En el circo

Lamentable sufrimiento
Dolor de necios
Brindis de insensatos

Que angustias prueban
Mis amigos
Por las noches
En sus cobijas encuentran
Amarguras de madrugada

FESTIVITIES AT THE GRAVEYARD


The little dog
Helps the dead
Cross the river

We took a ride
To our
Local cemetery

We saw lots
Of doggies

And lots
Of dead persons

Always give
The dog
Money for
His assistance

We enjoyed
The live music

EXPERIMENT


I activated
The control
In my brain
That makes
My face move
With peculiar efforts

And it did work
Because her eyes
Became dreamy
Like if she
Had many a shot
Of tequila

And there
Was a smile
On her face

I stopped
Looking into
Her blue eyes
Because the experiment
Left a cold—hot
Anointing on
My dark skin

BLACKOUT
2 FAMILIES
BY CANDLE LIGHT


As we arrived at the writer’s home
There was a blackout
The neighborhood went dark
And we walked towards the open gate
Walked through the hallway
And entered the unlock front door
It was a metal door and the light bulbs
Were turning on & off

And the author was on the 2nd floor
And we were on the 1st floor
And he said he was going to
Come down shortly
He was encouraging his daughter
Against the dark and since the
Electric power was coming
In & out
I helped him unplugged his
Electronic appliances
First went the stereo
And then the refrigerator

And then I lit some candles
That were next to an icon of
The Theotokos
As my children played with toys
That were left on the sofa

Then he came down
With his son & daughter and a flashlight
And a DVD for me to borrow
And he said that it would be better
If all of us be together since
It was dark and we all agreed

I said it was just like in the movies
And I thought I saw him smile
And I smiled too trying to not to laugh

And we all sat at his table
And we were about to start playing Uno
When we heard noises coming
From the basement
Clicking noises as if someone
Was typing on a computer keyboard
That’s what the writer’s daughter said
And we all heard the clicking sound
But he could not hear it

And I thought it may be the breaker box
Flipping on & off
And the writer walked down to the basement
And the rest of us were
Waiting with playful anticipation
And when he returned he said
The scanner was on
And he shut it off

Then he opened the
Refrigerator and handed me
A 2X and he got and O’doul’s
For himself

And we began to play Uno
And my children liked the game
And I remembered how
To play because it had been
Many years since I last
Saw 1 of those card sets

We continue playing
And the lights
Kept turning off and on
And the children started
To fall asleep 1 at the time
And when we had 2 kids
Out of the game
We decided stop playing
And the lights were back on
We thank him
And said goodbye
We went home

BEAUTY HEALS
FASTER THAN DRUGS


Life has placed
Lovely images
On you ankles

Your presence
Shines with
The energy
Of enchantment

Your hair
Flows down
Like a cascade
In summer

WIND STORM
AN AIRPLANE
PASSES BY


I awake in
An empty house

It’s only
A bare residence
Nothing too upsetting

Despite the
Dry spirits
That spit dirt
Into my nostrils
And irritate
My throat

I think I got it
Under control

So I get on
The truck
To drive and
Find a sense
Of purpose

And the streets
Are covered
With fine dirt
That cracks
The skin
On my lips

And I remember
The friendly
Electronic voice
That said
There’s no
Beauty here

And then I comprehend
What I need to
Be looking for

CONVALESCENCE


Reading a poem
Of isolation
And melancholy
In another language
Is not depressive

When the translator
Is radiant
With loveliness

Anguish & desperation
The flavor of pain
Of abandonment
A vessel
Of blindness
A dying soul
On the road

Gives velocity to
The healing process
Because beauty
Overcomes pain

11 PESOS COFFEE STOP


When I parked
The beat—up truck
I saw 2 police motorcycles
At the entrance
Right on the sidewalk

The policemen
Sat at a table
Frozen like
Copper statues

No donuts
For these guys
And it was too early
For tacos
Just caffeine

They read
Tijuana newspapers
With more of the usual
Shootings
Police pursuits
Additional dead people

I wanted to read
Their eyes
But they did not
Look up

There’s no sun today
It is overcast
There’s water
In the air

BIO—PURGATORY


I am inside
A stare

So organic
It makes sneezing
A byproduct

I am
Stuck in
The tollhouses

POWDER GRASS


And it’s sometimes
Hard to make it
To work

Especially if
The traffic
Is heavy
With bullets

Congestion
Of internal
Combustion

Echoes of
A place
Called liberty

A BIKE WITH A CATEYE


Now I am able
To peddle
All the way around
The chain drive
It’s a mechanical world

Exercise is work
And work
It’s a good thing

I do it slowly
The joint
Still is
Tight & swollen

But it’s
Getting better
With such medicinal
Brazilian smiles
So I asked her
About Pessoa

I was told
Not to go dancing yet
Sometimes you have
Not other choice

PHYSICAL THERAPY


The therapist
Said I was
Going to ride a bike
On that particular session

I have always
Love cycling

When I was
8 years old
My father
Got me my
First mini—bike

It ran on
Gasoline
And it had
Little fat tires

I wasted no time
I took the maid’s daughter
For a ride

It felt good
The way she put
Her arms
Around my waist

When we arrived
At the first stop sign
We gently crashed
On the Mexican pavement
Just across my house

We got up and
I parked the bike
On the driveway
And sat on the
Back seat of
My parent’s car
Where my riding partner was
Waiting for me

I laid down
Placed my head
On her thighs
And she started playing
With my hair
Her fingers were
Massaging my scalp
And it felt so good
She was wearing a skirt
And her skin was soft
Against my face

I am thinking
On all of this
As I struggle
To peddle on
The gym’s bike
And I can hardly do it
Because my knee
Will not bend enough

The therapist told me
“You will recuperate
If you keep up
The hard work”

And I know
I will ride a bike
Again

AT THE CHILDREN’S PLAYGROUND


I wait for
My two boys
As they jump
Up & down
In amusement

I observe
The murals
Paintings of cartoons

I see
dumbo
And nemo
The tasmanian devil
And a lion
With profoundly
Sad eyes

He looks
As if he
Just killed
Someone

SURGERY
(ANOTHER 1)



It’s challenging
To write
After an operation
Analgesic dreams
Seem to
Hinder the
Creative act
A matter
Of embarrassment
Or a vision joy

The nurse said
I was not going
To remember anything
I still remember
Her face and
The lovely way
She gave me
A can of apple juice
And I drank
From it

In a scale of
1—10
Where is
Your pain?

An 8
I said
And she said
This will
Make you
Feel better

And I felt tingling
On my
Upper body

In a scale of
1—10
Where is
You pain?


A 7
I said
And she
Injected 1 more
On my IV

And I felt
As if spices
Were swimming
All over
My head

I don’t remember
If she asked me
A 3rd time
About the famous
Pain scale

I do remember
Telling her something
About the number 6

But I don’t know
If she did anything
About it

WHISK


Dogs eat beans
Behind the bushes
They were
Never sweet
So they had
Cocoa powder
For desert
When you simmer
All of this
Magic happens
A blond
Woman appears
Eating guitars

PURCHASE


I bought myself
A pig
It’s green
And blue

I will
Make it fat
And then
Break it

But the salesman
Said to me
(En español)
I don’t need
To do it
That way

He said
I could cut
A whole in
In the gut

Take the goods out
Then patched it up
And use it again

TECATE


A poetry reading
In a brewery
That’s the way
God intended it

I believe this
As a matter
Of faith

The poet
That carries
A castle
On his surname
Convinced me
That all taverns
Should be bookstores

A safe heaven
For readers
And writers
And listeners
And friends
And enemies

The poet
That first translated
Bukowski’s poems
Into Spanish
Has wisdom
That can be discerned
When you drink
Firewater with him

Mayor Nick Inzunza should be California’s next governor

… the unreal half-artistic professions, which, while they pretend to be close to art, in practice deny and attack the existence of all art - as, for example, all of journalism does and almost all criticism…

R. M. Rilke.

LA MESA
AS SHE SPOKE TO ME
I WAS WRITING

Your face has
The perfect constellations

El silencio es una ventana
Para encontrar tesoros

Personal movements bring
Drops of revelry

Y las sonrisas
Se reparan
Con proteínas

Your eyes
Are crystals
Better than diamonds

Tus brazos
Y tus piernas
Son como
El mar
Pero viven
En las nubes
Del deseo

Your beauty
Is tall enough
To reach
My solar system

A POEM OF REMEMBRANCE
FOR RON COHN


Ron
I still remember
Your peculiar order
Your strange wish
Your tenebrous words

Your wantonness for
Something impossible
That lacerating message
Offensive movements
From your lips

I still recall
Your command:

“I want this place
Spotless like
A Cathedral”

I am sorry Ron
Your store
Is not a place
Of venerations
Your market
Worships the
Love of money

It’s going to take
More than
Illuminating rows
Of 1’s
(I am flattered)
To see better

It’s going to take
More than
Nickels and dimes
To repair the damage

Your place
Yes it’s dirty
With the blood
Of dead meat
And the stench
Of rotting fish

And I will continue
Cleaning it
Till it becomes
Spotless like
An Operating Room

REQUEST TO MY MANAGER

David
Give me Sundays off
Because of my
Sliced fingers
&
My shot meniscus

David Arias
Give me weekends off
And I will pray
To all the saints
For you

When you are
Fishing in the sea
On your nice boat
In a beautiful
Sunday morning

You can always
Use prayers
When you are
Deep in the waters

COPS IN TJ

2 nights in a row
I have been pulled over
The cops don’t ask
For money anymore

They just ask quick questions like:
“¿Cómo andas?”
And I said something to the effect of
“Ando bien”

I see how he’s holding his pistol
Ready pull it out
From his holster
Gringo style

I read his name badge
I always like to know the name
Of those who consider
Sending me
6 feet under

And I can tell he’s wearing
A bullet proof vest
I also know
I don’t have a chance

I reach for the glove compartment
To look for a lost
Vehicle registration card

And when he sees
My hand
Getting so close
He said
It’s okay
You can go

And I said
Something like
“Have a nice day”
Or something efficient
Like that

And the 1 that
Stopped me tonight
Had a lot of
Saints around
His wrist
And he saw
A lot of
Worn comfortable
Prayers around mine

He was concerned
With how I maneuver
My left turns
He asked me
Why I drive this way
And I could do
Was show him
The huevos
I had just bought

I told him I was
Running late
And that I needed to
Take care of my family

Then he said he was going to
Take me to a judge
And let him or her decide
If I needed to pay a fine
I told him I would follow him
And he said
“No, I will follow you”

I started my engine
And drove towards the
Unknown judge
Towards the unknown
Destination and I
Looked in my rearview mirror
I could see no police car
Following me
So I looked for this policeman
All over downtown
And I got tire of looking
And drove home
Amongst the unbearable traffic

PHOTOCOPIES

I don’t like Kinko’s
But sometimes
There’s no other choice
But to stare at
The apathetic employees
Burdened by
The sadness
Of mergers

This morning
Was different
I was able to get
Across the border
Without incident

I sometimes feel
½ the inspectors
Are friendly
And the other .5
Would like to see me
On the wrong side
Of the fence
Forever

My truck
Passed inspection
It also passed
CHP officers
As they worked
Detained cars
The 1’s driven
By the working class

This time Kinko’s
Was also different
The worker
That helped me
Looked a lot
Like a crazy
American youth pastor
That used to
Imitate sumo wrestlers
On Mexican summer trips

He paid close attention
To detail
And even made
A literary comment
About my poem
He was the best Kinko’s guy
He should be the owner

WORKING DAYLIGHT

In the morning sun
I was told
There was
A Santana wind coming

I drove towards
The border
And the line
Was so short
Like a snake
Chopped off
With a machete

The inspector had
The sun’s radiance
On her face
As if she had just
Come down
A holy mountain
Bless her soul

In the organic store
I was offered
Crackers with cheese
I ate them
Inside a freezer

My friend was
Kind enough
To share his food
With me
&
I shared a poem
With him

He paid money
For his food
I traded
My vanity
For the poem

http://keeponcrossin.com/

AN ORGANIC POEM
FOR RON COHN

Oh Ron Cohn
Employer in
Pursuit of
My life

David Arias
(Your boy wonder)
Has written me
A heartfelt memo

Nothing too artistic
Some sort of a
Marketable threat
With feelings
Dripping between
The lines

He has ambushed
Poor Aaron
&
Poor Pedro

Making them partakers
In the
Organic cloud
Of witnesses

And now even
Popeye the sailorman
Would think twice
Before eating
The spinach
You sell
Not because
He’s afraid of the
E. coli outbreak

But because
He understands
The seriousness of
The diseases
Of the soul

Your store smells
Like it has been
Fumigated with exploitation

That odor gives me headaches
And makes me sneeze out
The most sinister
Of your intentions

And I can still smell
That poison
On your shelves

The cries
Of the hurt children
Those who fell
On your floors
Are flammable
They will ignite

BORDER PATROL
AGENT LOTT

God did not
Turned you
Into a statue
Of salt

But He
Grabbed your arm
And did not
Let go

You said
It’s immaterial
I say
It’s mystical

You tell me
To take it easy
But I would like
To know
Why are you
So uptight?

CBP AGENT

Such a nice girl
If I wasn’t taken
I would ask her out

He surname
Is phonetically
Beautiful

She told me
I had a whale
In my plate
But all
I could see
Was the tail

Some kind of trophy
On the front
Of my truck?

I guess we could
Cut it
In little pieces
And fire a shot
At starvation

We could feed
The children
And the families
Of the working class