Aztatl
AKA Jose Garcia
Albuquerque, NM

How I learned not to write:

I recall vividly a nightmare verily

In black and white

Or was it white on white?

Not learning how to write in high school

That school in public denial

The student writer a rag in florida

And I could not agree on content

Nor form so I arrogantly withdrew

The re-write of the re-write

In English lit the true life farm worker adventure script of a xikano

Before the work xikano

Before the word xikano was ever uttered

Was returned with the grad A-

And the comment “is this copied?”

Water water everywhere

But not a drop to drink

The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner

Under the teenage skin

With little relativity or re-source

At age 10 hanging from the ladder

‘neath the cherry trees during golden

summer vacation from schoolwork

we told our friends back in the real world

we spent the summer swimming

in crystal clear lakes

running from black bears

running from the Texarkana Arkansas

good ol’ boys in 1952 pre-amerika

without the sandwiches to end our annual

trip to San Antone who cares anyway?

The sandwiches like the mineral water

From the outdoor pump probably tasted

Like the gasoline seepage

Into underground water systems

The corn whiskey moonshine

White lightning however

Was excellent for what ails ‘ya sailor

Night cruising

South San Antone thunder roads

My father 32 years at the steel factory

25 years a farmworker taxi cab driver

raspa street salesman carpenter

was never the captain of his ship years

of ridicule by the foreman he could not

read nor write English my mother

gone to the spirit world at age 37

never drove an automobile she was

very pleased with herself

when I taught her to write her name

she never saw an ocean of water

although on the rio medina she was seen

to race the fish and to receive

the sacred water spirit communion

zug island on the Detroit River and I

married to the same iron ore cinders

beneath bright orange-grey river glow

red smoke reflection raining on the city

almost perished there under general labor

true, never the captain pero listo ready

mi general! To assume my rightful place

grandfather juan arispe garza

with the steel gray eyes

the potty-mouth foul language

the pouting mouth a sign

of sorrow filled days and nights

born in monterrey nuevo leon mexico

sheriff of the same when

pancho villa’s forces entered

he, saved by the populace

died on howard street

Detroit michigan u$a

A veteran of the labores

The produce fields of America

And the steel factory land of opportunity

Land of bad debt

False promises

Racism

Alcoholism

Broken hearts

For us the indigenous

For us xikano y mexicanos

Forever more?

Forever one nation

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Excerpt from Indian Dog:

Two
Unexpected snowstorm the hills are
Covered with the image of wandering
Lost among these obliterated frozen trails,
we are prepared.
We seek Refuge in the automobile home of our dreams hunger the stark reality.
A heartfelt supplication to Father Sun –
so dim and distant – and Mother Earth
so vital beneath our feet. Misplaced
cache of canned emergency food appears
on the roof rack of our automobile home.

We are prepared.

We inhale our pork n’ beans blessings
Sardine escargot
Spam finger food crackers
Straight from automobile heaven.

Tomorrow is pay day.

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Nickel & Dimed in the Southwest

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