Member Poem

I was a scrawny twig that could be snapped with ease.
So I dressed in green army camouflage cargo pants and sneakers
riddled with holes.
I would hide under trees and hop over fences.
Wage guerrilla warfare on neighbors, siblings
and invisible opponents using imaginary guns and grenades.
Even crafting a rocket launcher from the deepest powers of my
mind.

I was told not to play down the block.
Born free, but limited in movements,
because real soldiers of the streets
with no imaginations
fired real bullets made of lead and hate
that easily strayed into young skin.

Saturday morning was our sanctuary.
A time to gulp down bowls of confleis
and imitation brands of lucky charms.
We owned one TV
and all morning long it played cartoons and music videos.
The power of cable provided by our neighbors
without their knowledge.

The TV would run all day and all night,
the images of cartoons would change to the noticias,
where fortune tellers and misfortunes dominated the screen.

Don Francisco and the madness of Sabado Gigante.
The beautiful dancers in their short skirts and long brown hair.
The Chacal in his black robe and inquisitor mask,
dragging away the souls of the losers from the weekly karaoke
contest.

But my father could not stand Don Francisco,
quickly calling him a pinche viejo pendejo.
As if Don Francisco could hear him from his studio in Miami
or his fat mansion in the suburbs of Dade County.

The nights would finish with Telemundo.
All of the greatest action hits of the 80’s in the 90’s.
Stallone, Seagal, Van Damme and Schwarzenegger
dubbed over in Spanish.
***