Poetry

mis hermanos

My brother works for Allstate
lives in Sterling Whites, Michigan
and always sells the most
flags for the VFW
he makes love to an anglo
every night
and wears a coiffure
that irons out the waves
as his perfect basso profundo
obscures the rolling
lengua de Puerto Rico
My brother works as a mechanic
for a Mafia-run garage in Manhattan
they call him Mike
when his name is Guadalupe
the pomade he uses
to press down the kinks
gives him the look of painted plaster
and the anglo he makes love to
every night
washes the grease stained
pillow cases in lye soap
he forces his belt
to the last notch
accentuating the brawn of his torso
and brags about
how good his bosses treat him
as he clips the beeper to his belt
My brother doesn’t work
he listens to country western
and drinks muchas cervezas
at night
in the back of his pick-up
w/the anglos he meets in the bars
sometimes he picks fruit
but worries that the sun
will make his mestizo skin
too brown
he speaks Spanish sometimes
when he’s making love to the anglos
porque las chicas
think it’s sexy
but to nuestros padres he always
screams that we are “AMERICANS”
and should hablar inglés solamente.

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