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Here's some more poetry I've written recently.
Some of it is a bit controversial, so reader beware!

A Late Thursday Night

At two in the morning
the girls pour out of the bar like steam,
the steam they've built up in the bar,
flowing like the beer they drink,
the beer of which they stink.

Streaks of blonde and tan cross the parking lot,
masses of black-shrouded legs,
tipsy on their three-inch black heels,
run giggling to their cars,
off to coney islands or more bars.

So giggly, with eyes fake and bright,
brown skin crackled from hot UV lights,
fake smiles,
fake tans,
fake breasts and fake cans,
racking up as many fake guys as they can

Eyes heavy with mascara
and a stinking sleep
powdered over bright blue
and streaked with gold
to hide the reality within.

February 2002
 

 It's Been So Long...

It's been so long since I've felt like myself
that I don't remember what my old self was like.
My old self was my childhood--
when I tore around the backyard in the summer,
spending my days in the sun,
becoming as brown as the Mexican I am,
free of the physical pain but not the emotional.
Now at twenty, I feel so much older.
The dull pain every day is taking its toll,
frustrating when my head droops in class,
frustrating when I can't mentally keep up with a class
that's so much older and wiser than I.
I pale in comparison to the beloved blonde-and-tans,
with their babies and careers and hectic lives,
and I push through every day,
unable to blame late work on feeling blasee.
I have a lot to go against--
age, kids, jobs, brains,
those who are revered to do it all,
and I could do the same
if only my body would let me.

March 2002
 

 The City of Flint, Michigan

Roaming these streets,
these filthy, uncaring streets
Lock your doors when you drive through here
although they're too tired,
too hungry, too child-laden
to jack your car

Roaming these dirty, empty streets
Prosperous buildings stared with gaping eyes
as they emptied, their eyes then shut by plywood.
Warm loving homes crumble to the ground,
homes to our only prosperous business now.

Roaming these littered, howling streets
while mom stays to wait for the welfare check
(a check worth more than a minimum-wage job)
as children innocently fill these streets
and businesses wisely leave these streets,
these streets littered with broken toys,
broken glass, broken cigarettes, broken lives.

February 2002

Never Eat Soggy Waffles

The "never eat soggy waffles" trick was something I learned from my second-grade teacher, Mrs. Hubble, to remember
my north, south, east and west directions. Starting from the north, you turn clockwise, and for each direction you say "Never
(North) Eat (East) Soggy (South) Waffles (West)." I still use this trick sometimes to this day!

This poem describes the north, east, south and west sides of Flint.
 
 

NEVER in my life have I seen so many
desperate faces in this bombed-out,
junked-up shell of a neighborhood
that smells like dogs and motor oil

EAT your vegetables, a mom tells her child,
so you can grow up and be strong
and be able to fight the other kids
who will take your money and give you drugs

SOGGY fields stretch for miles after the rain,
neglected farmland already sold off
to build cheap quarter-million-dollar homes,
more restaurants and stores that we need

WAFFLES are what they ate for breakfast here,
the butter and batter smells linger behind
in this house where the mayor used to live.

Things are looking up for us now.

March 2002
 

Reflections on a Magazine

The magazine beckons and calls to me.
I turn its glossy, scented pages and see
golden glowing models, perfectly dressed,
their hair and their abdomens looking their best.

Gentle scents linger in my nose.
I sift through pages of colorful clothes
on slender models with perfect hair
and bikini lines that are totally bare.

I scratch my legs where the hair grows back,
touch my face where flawless skin I lack.
I picture the models' clothes on me,
but a belly hanging out is all I can see.

I close the magazine and turn away--
I've seen enough perfection today.
I rub my heavy, ragged brow
and shift my focus to chemistry now.

April 2002
 

"Ophelia"

My life has been dashed before my eyes!
But enough of that now--the cool water
tinkles past my toes--oh, how it tries
to tickle me and make me forget poor father!

Nothing I will forget--I am now
a lovely princess, fair of brow,
belonging to this lovely litle stream.
It wants to carry me away, it seems.

I lay down--the water surrounds me.
I am enclosed in a crystal, and now I
am carried away, sky is all I can see,
nothing but the pretty blue sky....

April 2002
 

UNITED WE STAND
September 11, 2001

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