I ain’t ate nothin’ today,
But macaroni and milk,
And now… a gutful of *****,
Warm, radiating swirls of nauseas,
Blessed are the clean sheets,
And the walls of this room blowing cool whispers,
Across my back.

Dusty bottles of *****,
Raise up dusty ghosts in this basement,
Sickeningly sweet whiskeys and buttery shots,
Warm,
Then sharply struck by icy cold, antiseptic *****.

The Hispanic breeds are being scared off lately,
They don’t speak much English,
I don’t speak much Spanish,
But I remember when I was a little boy,
White boy in a brown body,
Nestled in a blanket in a slum apartment,
Surrounded by grizzly, Mexican men,
All with breath of stale beer,
They’re faded blue like their work shirts,
And I was young and golden,
They were all my friends,
The air, oily with the smell of fried tortillas,
My own eyes wide,
My hair long, over my ears,
A worn, mongrel, Mexican boy.