Wednesday, April 22, 2009

man up if you will


working to understand


Little Hector and I were wire

brushing the wrought-iron

fence that surrounded the

graves of Otis, Miles and

Dolly, all award-winning

beauties; blonde, postured,

blood-lines of royalty if

the humans who owned

them were to be believed.


Little Hector was telling some

tale or another of back in

the day when he drove for

the cartels until he fell

in love and didn’t want to

end up headless or raising

pigs to sell for slaughter 

to the corrupt, so he

followed the trails north,

passing more dead bodies

than he had ever seen while

working for the men the

songs on the Spanish station

were written about.


He asked me why people 

in this country I was born

into erect fences for their

dead animals but those

who built the fences and

dug the graves received less

respect than the piles of

fur and bones decomposing

beneath our feet. He asked

me who would bury him if

he died in the canyon or fell

from a roof he was tiling. 

I had no answers.

He half-joked if he were a

dog he’d have papers, a home

to live in, he wouldn’t have to

be a beast of burden anymore,

strangers on the street

would stop to love him.


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For today's prompt, I want you to write a work-related poem. Work doesn't have to be the main feature of the poem, but I want you to "work" it in somehow. And remember: There are different types of work. Of course, there are the activities that gain you fortune and fame (or not), but then, there's also housework, exercise, volunteering, etc. I'm sure you'll "work" it out

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To those of you this poem pisses off I suggest you boycott fruit and vegetables in protest.  While you're at it you should not eat any meat that has been packed and request dirty dishes when you go out to eat. Thanks!


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