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THANKSGIVING BLUES
Bullets flew on Cotton Street and Sixth
seconds after the dismissal bell
sent buses
stuffed with teenagers
home for Thanksgiving.
"MAN KILLS FRIEND, SELF," headlines read.
Another dead Mexican.
I shake my head.
"Why did you come here to teach?" they probe.
Even
the school, named after a Medal-of-Honor winner
bears the name of
Another dead
Mexican.
Bodies crumpled, bloody tissue,
rich Chicano blood soaks into the earth
before rusty screen
doors
faded in cracked turquoise
Another dead Mexican?
Dead where cholos buy dope
across the street from El Segundo Barrio's hope,
where children write essays:
"WHAT I AM THANKFUL FOR"
Mario's papa hangs out with buddies
over
cold Corona at the plaza;
Espiranza's abuelita spits up blood
on the cold adobe
floor;
Memo's father disappears all day and night
chasing an illusive buck;
Roberto's momma
lies in her nightgown
in love with rock
One thing is final---
Karla's brother won't be cruising
with la banda tonight.
I slice turkey,
stir raisins into dressing,
grind popping cranberries,
and slice,
slice,
slice
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