Up in the crows nest with the hawsers,a steel vest that ran up the ship and fastened itself to the West wind that blew,
sat, Tamale the blue,
so named, because of his dour expression,that was compressed on his features like a cold North depression,
and he wailed at the gales,the unfairness of being, a hangdog of a ****** who saw nothing worth seeing.
The salt etched in deep and slept in his face though the vessel awake,raced on in the night,
Tamale saw nothing until the Bosun cried, 'land of the starboard bow'
too late then, when Tamale awoke,the ship hit the reef line and the hull broke in two,
and Tamale the blue was thrown down to meet his very first day in the depths of the deep.

—for Mariel



She sells 2 sole paltas beside street  
vendors who whistle at crop-top-clad girls,
spewing profanities complete
with broken English. She has four girls
hungry at home. They dream of science, stars,
constellations that spiral and sparr
with particles that make us what we are —

interrupted by howling dogs, the 5
AM tamale man, and stray **** crows.
Amid dust-clouds of Zona D, the sun arrives
over the peak Luis claims once exposed
his innocent eyes to an angel: one
tale of faith raised on culture come undone
presently. Poet Andrea Gibson

writes, “I said to the sun, ‘Tell me about
the Big Bang.’ And the sun said, ‘it hurts to
become.’” At dusk, Mariel takes a Combi out
sixteen stops from Quince, up 302
steps to a turquoise shack and a red rose
garden, and plants avocado seeds at her toes.
Poco a poco, se anda lejos.

Sweating bullets in TJ
a Hot August Eve
want the filet but can't even
pay a burrito on the street.

Pop into a club
to quench the thirst,
then lose all my cash....
the corner casino,
ouch that hurt.

My brother smells tacos
I say sure swell then
up four flights
to a ****** hotel.

Rooms by the hour,
I just want a shower,
it's ******* hot as hell.

What should take one
turns into 4 hours
playing the waiting game.

Handed her green,
she left the scene,
came back with,
a quarter of the order.
Pack up our **** lickety-split
it's time to cross the border.

Long and slow we wind
our way through,
no passport, no birth certificate and now at the booth.

He's on a watchlist
the feds know me
where you headed tonight?
the uniform speaks.
Secondary sir
I'm used to it see.

Scolded for lack of papers
told they'll detain us next time
we're tagged and processed then he points to a line

Run through the scanner
& told to get out by
a badge on a boy
just outta the scouts

He scans us briefly  
looks quickly inside....
then he says free to go,  
Have a safe ride

Little did they know
of the contraband inside....
25 tamales
in a bag untied.

In contrast with the cold morning air,
The house was cozy and warm
As we all arrived to participate
Like worker bees starting to swarm.
The smell of pork and refried beans
Permeated the room.
The champagne bottles were chilling on ice--
How much did we consume?
Sally brought some egg McMuffins.
I thought, "Something's amiss:
Egg McMuffins and NO pan dulce!°°
What kind of party is this?"

But I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada:
The annual Alonzo family tamalada.

The giant bucket of masa°°° awaited
Marisa's kneading hands.
While she kneaded the dough, the rest of us
Listened for Sally's commands.
After a brief champagne toast,
Our assembly line started.
Everyone had a job to do;
It wasn't for the faint-hearted.
Spreading the masa on the husks
Was a messy task.
I wondered, "How many will we make?"
But I was afraid to ask.

It wasn't very long before
Everyone in the casa
Was practically covered from head to foot
With fluffy tamale masa.
We spread and stuffed and folded and wrapped
While Sally entertained us.
The conversation, laughter, fun,
And champagne all sustained us.
The wonderful smells of lunch also
Encouraged us to work hard
Lest we be known as shirkers and our
Reputations be marred.

But I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada:
The annual Alonzo family tamalada

After a few hundred tamales,
The masa was getting low.
I said, "Yay! We're almost done!"
But Alice said, "Oh, no.
That was just the pork; now we're
Making chile and cheese."
Blurry-eyed I held up my spoon
And said, "More hojas,°°°° please."
On and on we continued to work
Like hive bees making honey.
But it was worth it, for these tamales
Are more valuable than money.

Alice, Yvonne, Kathy, Yolie,
Aida, and Sally know why--
As do Marisa, Rebecca, Karen,
Marisol, Nancy, and I--
We always look forward to getting together
For laughter, fun, and cheer
And this spirited, heart-warming gathering
Whenever December is here.
Homemade tamales can't be beat
When made in our special fashion
With love, care, conviviality,
Warmth, goodwill and passion.

I wouldn't miss it--nope--for nada:
The annual Alonzo family tamalada.

__
°tamale-making party
°°Mexican sweet bread
°°°dough
°°°°(corn husk) leaves

- by Bob B

canadian bacon is the best
just laying down some facts
poutine is also good
never really cared for the pea soup tho

america.
mcdonalds is ok
i prefer popeyes over
kfc but thats just me

mexico
i ate the corn husk of
a tamale once
carne asadas are pretty bomb

conclusion:
remove the cornhusk from the tamale
thicc bacon is good bacon
eat more fried chicken

Human ****,
human ****  
Avarice  
Get that ****
Out of my dish
How many species
Do you wish
Extinct by Swedish overfish
Are you so fond of licorice?

Like cavities on Halloween
You rot away my clenching teeth
Spoiled children trick or treat
So concerned with what to eat
While glaciers melt like Hershey bars
In Hot Tamale heat
As oceans rise
You feast blind eyes
And licorice blackens the skies

Making my blood pressure high
Unwrapping one more Smartie
Just to find an Air-Head Spree
And now I'm left here questioning
My ***** Wonka sanity
For thinking I could save these kids
From Candy Land's of apathy
Stuck on selfish sticky squares
Lord Licorice tormenting me

With sugar-coated ignorance
Preferred over
The sour patch
Of truth too bitter for their lips
   Starbursting, Milky Way abyss
   Warheads warping face and time
   Mere rainbows to your skittle bliss
The end of mine? No sweets to find
You've left me only licorice

There are odors in my room,
circulating,
titillating my mind.
But, they're really more
like fragrances
& sweet memories of you,
not physically here,
I just think you are.
Primordial to the bone.
Raw to the skin.
Primal instincts.
Wantonness beyond compare.
Sensuality to the core.
Hot Tamale.
Honest *****.
O Yes Darling,
you still haunt me
when I want you,
need your smells
to quell my memory.

Why so inquisitive little guy?
You threw your own feces at Miley Cyrus.
Ate a whole bar of soap.
Even carried Ebola virus.

While nosing around you got
zapped by a high voltage fence.
Stole a bunch of bananas from the dollar store.
But got probation cause it was your first offense.

You once smoked a pack of cigarettes
with Salvador Dali.
Then twice stated he spoke English
like a dumb tamale.

You ran your rental car off a cliff
in Malibu just for kicks.
Bought a case of Gorilla glue just to sniff.

Hanging out with Maury Povich
you copped a feel on Connie Chung.
Spent a complete summer strung out
in North Korea with Kim Jong-un.

You got caught peeking through the hole
in the wall of the girls' locker room.
Pleaded no contest when
the monkey business hit the courtroom.
Then told all in your sorted
memoirs, nom de plume.

You're a lazy obstinate chimp
who's too curious for his own good.
I'd say a future trip to the vet to get neutered
is a sure likelihood.

I don’t miss you every day

I didn’t when you were alive

Our relationship wasn’t like that

I do think of you sometimes…

When I make spaghetti sauce
When I listen to gospel music
When I defend unborn life

When I hear a particular twang in someone’s voice
When I smell the desert sage
When a preacher is filled with the Holy Ghost

When Blacks and Whites harmonize
and bring together the best of both cultures
I think of you

When my kids sing
When the music is loud
I see your thumbprint on their souls

There’s
Tamale pie
Pork ‘n Beans
Jiffy Cornbread
and Collard Greens
With the extra bit of salt
The dash of heat
The reserved bacon fat
I gift your flavors to the future

It’s been ten years and
I don’t think of you always
but when I do

You are there

I used to find shame,
   in the great staple food of the tamale,
      drinking poor atole,
          and presenting a plate of mole to our guest,


I used to find shame,
   being the son of two "aliens"
        how it plagued me. . .

but like Jarabe Tapatío dancers,
  I found pride,
        in our dances,
            in our culture,
               in my family.
                   for it is me,
                       I am me.
                         I am proud. . .

-ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ