I stand in lines
and wait for better times.
The sun shines,
We **** on limes,
tequila on our minds.

There are all kinds.

So I pass out my dimes
to pay for the ******* fines,
as we listen to the chimes
and the pretty, pretty rhymes.

Yes, I have been wined and dined,
but I have also been worked to a grind.
I'm no mastermind,
but I have tried hard to align

the faults of the self
with the faults of the rest.

I couldn’t wait for my class to end so I could run outside and find
el carrito (Stand)
I fell in love with the feeling and the taste before I even knew what love was.
I stood outside holding my mother’s hand waiting for her to ask
the times she did not ask I would pull on her plaid, decently long skirt and looked over towards the man selling raspados

She knew what I wanted and she knew how much I wanted it.
I focused on ...
el carrito
as if looking at it would be enough to call the gods of raspados to have mercy over me

They cost $1.50. My mother gives me the money
I run over
The man says

te faltan, no es suficiente (not enough)

I was devastated, I began to take step back slowly, I dared to not look at my mother with this disappointment.
I barely noticed the lady standing behind the man, she was the boss

I noticed she was looking towards my mother
Maybe she saw in my mother’s face something convincing, or maybe my confusion triggered a mother instinct
Whatever it was, it was enough

As I walked away slowly with my first heart break,
the lady behind says,

tiene antojo, tu daselo (She has a craving, give it to her)

I thanked her with my smile and with a slight flitter in my heart of happiness and even more with my taste buds having a celebration just by looking at how this raspado was being made

The beautiful sound of the mountain man, holding a metal, rectangular shaver of ice
containing it all inside until it was ready to be placed in the cup. The small stones pile one by one when crushed
Just big enough to hold shape and small enough to enjoy

Then the miel con sabor a tamarindo  being delicately set on top, like a creamy blanket in liquid form

Si, con limon y sal, porfavor, y poquito chile (add salt and lemon, and a bit of spice... Please)
because my mom taught me how to be polite
and then, to my surprise the actual fruit
tamarindo on top, a light brown coloring with a soft cover on the hardened seed inside

It decorated with grace and delight, the treat awaiting for me
I felt the richness


There I learned my first lesson of kindness

It was an awful time
In a regime of crime;
Of robber barons who
Increased the taxes to
Barricade their homes
And set thieves to roam
So they could all carve
The poor and let them starve.

The poor, so sick and dull,
Felt they were being pulled
Between half-truths and lies
That were all disguised
As the loving benefactions
And the word of some god
From ancient lost times
Imported from The Land Of Odd.

It was a scary times of idols
With feet of pond slime who
Confused the people and
Took their civil rights too
And stole their pensions
And their insurance away;
Would not protect them
No matter what folks would say.

The poor, so sick and dull,
Felt they were being pulled
Between half-truths and lies
That were all disguised
As the loving benefactions
And the word of some god
From ancient lost times
Imported from The Land Of Odd.

It was a horrible time here
When leaders didn’t lead
Or see to what those who
Had elected them might need.
The stupid poor watched as
The nation slowly eroded away.
What a sad tale of a sad land.
The land is us and it was just yesterday.

It was an awful time
In a regime of crime;
Of robber barons who
Increased the taxes to
Barricade their homes
And set thieves to roam
So they could all carve
The poor and let them starve.

It would be nice, yes,
To not have to think about money.
Then again,
It would be nice to not have to think
About anything.
That’s what so much of life is nowadays - not thinking.
Avoiding, at all costs, the chance that you might be forced to think about your life.
What you’ve lost, what you’ve yet to lose, and why it even matters that
You’re losing anything at all.

now that you'd had the vote for  
a hundred years what have u
accomplished by voting for the dog
catcher; now that u can determine
the direction of the ship of state
in the UK & the USA drink up,
ladies, it's ur tab, it's all on u;
urchin match girls & orphans
begging in the street; twelve year
turned out to put food on the table
where there is bread & only cheap
wine but those little girls ******
get the hang of turning tricks when
it's a beating they go home to for
good or ill; mama threw the baby
out w/ the bathwater & the kid hit
me in the head; I sold it on Fifth
Avenue & now she's a doyen who
doesn't want her past talked about;
she's a suffragette & her husband is
a ***** & they throw lavish parties
beneath crystal chandeliers inviting
the leading lights of literature & art;
science & philosophy speaking so
erudite only known to themselves
that they were once of the streets;
surviving life in the ghetto & rising
u from the gutter, leaving the filthy
city behind for countryside estates;
now she's a suffragette married w/
blue blood in her children's veins

Smoking butts from ashtrays
And twice-cooked coffee grounds,
Bumming coins from my neighbors
And searching for change on the ground.
Mayonnaise sandwiches daily
And buying ramen by the case
I switched from Coke to iced tea.
I like the difference it makes.

Being poor is a decision I made
It affects virtually everything I do.
It took away some of my decisions
And life is suddenly quite new.

I lay my shirts and pants out flat
Between box springs and mattress.
I’m learning how to cook for myself
And to do better laundry I confess.
I use my friend’s laundry room
And bless him every time I do.
It’s a lovely thing he does for me
So I try hard to reciprocate too.

Being poor really teaches me
What is necessary in my life.
I learned I can survive quite nicely
Using a McDonald’s plastic knife.

I don’t have cable or a cell phone.
I walk and take whatever bus is near.
When I need something like socks
I scrounge and play things by ear.
I go to second hand stores a lot
And yard sales with my few dollars.
And yes, my clothes are getting sad
My shirts have rather fuzzy collars.

Being poor became my choice
When I realized I didn’t have skills.
I catch whatever jobs I can now.
I sure hope poverty doesn’t ****.