Like Root Beer Diamonds
smokestack lightning on the pomona freeway
plays their twangy sound brimming with desire
tan mexican cheerleader rides in a ’46 chevy
passing neon hamburger stands in walnut city
passing the silver taco trucks parked on main
they clang like bells in a distant temple of god
she say she want pozole beans and coca cola
her brown eyes sparkle like root beer diamonds
her dark skin enfolds me with unimagined force
the stars above my cruising machine wink at us
they know of our holy genuflections in the dark
the ‘46 chevy parks at javier’s mexican canteen
smokestack lightning plays their twangy sound
plays it on 8 track plastic brimming with desire
her sweet salsa voice puts my soul in handcuffs
her straight white teeth and wet lips enslave me
we sit close at a back table in the dim darkness
her brown eyes sparkle like root beer diamonds
The beauty of truth shriveled and spit
Like July 4th snakes, dying on the sidewalk
My eyesight is going, but I don’t think I lie
My shingles are back, expressing anger and pain
My flesh house is crumbling
I will not be sorry when it dies
The smells of old age parade around in my house
Sneering and poking their fingers at me
Reminding me of the smell of garbage piles of Pomona
I always hated old people.
Their wrinkles, age spots, blue veins
Especially their smells
I watch myself turn into a carcass
It is taking longer than I had hoped
I never took a pill before
And now here I am, a pothead
With bad teeth, and black holes
In a mouth no one hears
Ode to a Persimmon
Ahhh!
Ripe, juicy, pulpy persimmon…
plump berry, mini orange sun.
Syrupy sweet delicious delight
dangling golden in day’s bright light,
on blue-green leafy branch up high,
glossy under a summer sky.
Fleshy ambrosial enchantress,
nectar of Pomona, fruit goddess.
Like a bee to honey I’m drawn;
your flavor incites me to fawn.
My greedy taste buds you excite,
tempting me to come take a bite.
Dangling golden in day’s bright light,
syrupy sweet delicious delight.
Tempting me to come take a bite,
my greedy taste buds you excite.
Plump berry, mini orange sun…
ripe, juicy, pulpy persimmon.
Ahhh!
08-02-2018
UNTITLED
In a dust try hut
Under a hot red sun
A small child dies,
Arms like sticks
Legs the same.
A chest with bones
No thicker than a chickens.
Eyes wide with surprise
And the flies.
Not far away
A young man cries
And the gun he carries
Falls away.
His eyes also watch with surprise
As the sun fades into darkness
And the earth turns away.
In a bed,
With clean white sheets
Another man lies,
And listens to the traffic
Dull, down in the street.
He also cries
As he dies
With roses at his feet.
His death is not less
Not a soldier
Nor a starving child.
Just a gay
Who worked the streets.
Pomona February 1988
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