IPOD
RADIO
Being a student of the history of religion, I have been often fascinated by the makeshift altars to the dead along roadsides: In the city next to a mini-mart, marking the spot where a young man met a drive-by bullet; or in the countryside, surrounded by rows and rows of grapevines, memorials are erected to remember dead ones who missed the stop sign and drove headlong in eternity. The most fascinating aspect of these memorials are the very heartfelt letters left by family and friends of the departed. A short couple of sentences from a wife to her husband, "I love you dearly, we will be together again in heaven," scrawled on a tattered piece of paper, can be as moving as any great poem.
BLOGS
PAPA WAS A ROLLING STONE
"Papa was a rolling stone" echoed
across scuffed-marked wooden floors
covered with a thin layer of grease
from the thousands of fried tacos
"wherever he laid his hat was his home"
vibrating across cockroach wings under the fridge
eating frijoles and welfare cheese crumbs
over beer bottle lips
and 5 Latinas whose hips curved round
like the foothills between Sanger and Avocado Lake
where drunken vatos drown
The Temptation's soothing words like hot sex
On a Fresno's sultry night when gunshots
Ring through the barrio in a twisted serenade
Crooned six Latinas holding back tears
Bright red lipstick sucking on menthols
Remembering golden years cruising
In her sancho's lowrider impala
"Give me another beer hermana" Mona sighs
fixing her black bra with charcoal eyes
reminiscing 'bout ol' times
When love was steamy like the Valley in July
When "Jorge and Anita" forever
Was an unbroken vision
Blessed by Church, Family and the Virgin
"Papa was a rolling stone" as six Latinas
shake hair-sprayed heads in approval
take another round of shots of Jose Cuervo
"and all he left us was alone"
as black masquera runs down high cheek bones
like dark brown rivers of loneliness
"Papa was a rolling stone" echoed
across scuffed-marked wooden floors
covered with a thin layer of grease
from the thousands of fried tacos
"wherever he laid his hat was his home"
vibrating across cockroach wings under the fridge
eating frijoles and welfare cheese crumbs
over beer bottle lips
and 5 Latinas whose hips curved round
like the foothills between Sanger and Avocado Lake
where drunken vatos drown
The Temptation's soothing words like hot sex
On a Fresno's sultry night when gunshots
Ring through the barrio in a twisted serenade
Crooned six Latinas holding back tears
Bright red lipstick sucking on menthols
Remembering golden years cruising
In her sancho's lowrider impala
"Give me another beer hermana" Mona sighs
fixing her black bra with charcoal eyes
reminiscing 'bout ol' times
When love was steamy like the Valley in July
When "Jorge and Anita" forever
Was an unbroken vision
Blessed by Church, Family and the Virgin
"Papa was a rolling stone" as six Latinas
shake hair-sprayed heads in approval
take another round of shots of Jose Cuervo
"and all he left us was alone"
as black masquera runs down high cheek bones
like dark brown rivers of loneliness
MAY 2008
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blackbird