polvo magazine

essays, reviews, poetry, short stories, everyday observations, contemporary art

Spring Fever

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A former California stripper,
becomes the poster girl for (excessive) motherhood
—a litter of eight , now totals 14 that suck tax-dollars.
Octomom! Her mammaries twirl gallons of amasake
as the state’s water and cash run dry,
but why is it no one recalls ENRON?

At the same time Obama mon flew to Mexico,
our man drops in to el DF,
where people go deaf in the opera of 20 million.
He, takes a museum tour with a dying Mexican,
who died, the very next day from a virus –H1 N1– swine flu.

One, two, buckle my shoe, three, four –close the door,
Five, six –pickup sticks, all they did was bump fists and
Our Prez, took notes as dead man offered insights on Teotihuacan prophecy,
seven, eight, lay them straight, both were stationed
in the shadow of ancient Cuauhlxicalli
=( Cuahtli =eagle, caxitl = bowl).
Nine, ten, don’t risk it again,
Mexico is the Narco-war epicenter,
where the Calendario Azteca stands 12 feet in diameter, 25 tons of
hand-carved glyphs and symbols, (yet, few ever know what they’re looking at)—

In Chicago
on El Cinco de Mayo I say:
oyes mi cabra, abra su boca, el vino es tinto,
and it won’t make you tan loca,
plus you’re all horny, so let’s have some .

While sharing a plate of various quesos,
fresh miel y apricot mixed with figs
we listen to the laughter at
the neighboring table
where gray –haired gay seems to have some young friends.
They’re just so happy to spend time and
his money here at BIN 36.
For entertainment, Elvis whisker man another nearby customer,
accidentally buries the waiter under an avalanche of wine glasses.
No one was supposed to get hurt, just get our attention.
I tell Cindy that’s another reason not to wear
moccasins or sandals when traveling outside.
She removes her surgeon mask
Slips into her best Uni-bomber voice,
Wake up and smell the thermite!

Carlos Cumpián 2009


Written by admin

March 2, 2010 at 11:10 am

Posted in Poetry

Tagged with ,

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