Monday, June 30, 2008

Regals, Acequias, and Bomb-ass Cuttys, Homes

In this sprawling asphalt, Southside arithmetic and
Homeboy wonderland; Look at me—
Doting, groping esperanzas like corn truffles;
Aqui, we all are fledgling visionaries,
Fledgling camaradas, homes.

Thunderbird dreams. Dexterous fingers trace starched-up
Ben Davis seams. Heavy strawberry sweets, a throatful of blunts.
My lofty rosario heaving hope inside this Impala.
1965. Hardtop. Primer grey and believing
In these hard times, homes. Signs, thighs.
Down-ass pelons fondling
Watch tower tattuajes alongside
Charming payasitos placaos on silver-candied hoods
Of majestic Regals and true blue Cuttys; Trust.
This is my Aztlan.

Where resurrected xolos groom
Legendary Mohawks, and metalflake and Daytons
Hungrily gather, esperandolo.
Scalps and pompadours! Tallboys and firme creases.
De aquellas.

Big-ass mesquites and retamas burst sinewy fronds
And yellow miracles that mimic faith; Blindly.
For all our vatos, For the marvels of this baby
waterfall that trickles and tries, billows of humo
emerge from mouths like spirits and suspiros and shit.

Black Magic llantas shiny as the womb of the
Five hundred star brothers and sisters—Military Drive,
Mi cielo, mi tierra. Watchalo!
Lonely Boy. Laughing Boy. Sad Boy. Y el Sleeper.
This vela in the shell of the sun swells and dwells and
Swallows these acequias. Industry in the city.

Ditches. Manmade rios. Shut down baños and
Choques of unrequited deseos and unreturned llamadas to
Isolated-ass vatos sitting, waiting,
Watchando, while the whole world passes on second-hand sofas
at Fair Avenue and I-37;
Heaven has gone the color of summer calabazas and fading hickeys.

Above us, el cemetario of clouds:
departed homeboys that never made it this far.
Honor. Corajes and cariños. Homenajes.
Schedule me a bout of Southside rolas.
Schedule me a car wash at the corner of Roosevelt and Military—
Sunny Ozuna, Laura Canales, Los Manhattans.

In the acequia, afloat are pachuco effigies and
Fluidos; Loves lost and knuckles knot, tripas
And tracheas on the brink of kingdom come, guey.
Veteranos loving veteranos, the magic of backseat velour
On piel! This is our San Anto, guey.
The symmetry of chorizo!