Poems
This is from the title poem in the first book. It's a tribute to the Mexican men, braceros, saviors of our crop, and perhaps California agriculture, then and now.
A MANO (excerpt)
The men came from Mexico
To pick our fruit
A mano, by hand
Our fragile Gravenstein apple crop falling
Hence our need, our haste
To the ranch in the station wagon ________________________________ Lookin’ through old books You’ll find a dog-eared page
A ’56 Mercury, green and yellow
Everything in a little sack between their legs
Inside two rubber bands their papers,
A few photographs and a few pesos
On the way, to the market
For beans, flour and lard
With an advance on their work
A mano, by hand...
LOOKIN’ THROUGH OLD BOOKS (excerpt)
You never know what you’ll find
Maybe an old pressed Douglas iris
Your mother’s favorite kind
And wonder whether she ever came back
A bill of sale for a gelding horse
His saddle and all his tack...
__________________________________
A STRAIGHT STRETCH OF ROAD
It’s a straight stretch of road
No danger in sight
Put your mind at ease
Lay your worries in the back
Roll down the window
Let the wind flutter through your hair
It’s hot as hell outside
Sweat builds beneath your shirt
The hills rise and fall away
The gentleness of dusk appears
You may close your eyes
It’s a straight stretch of road
Our Dogs
Inevitably they talk about their dogs
Leaning against the bar
Leaning against the fenders of their pickup trucks
Laying around the campfire
Gazing at the stars
Inevitably they talk about their dogs
Little do they know
Those little silver specks in the heavens
Are the reflections from the eyes
Of all their old friends long gone
And those silver streaks, not falling stars,
No, Frisbees, tennis balls and sticks
That got away in the weightlessness of space
I was on duty often when they came
And I cried along with their masters
When their time had come
The rich, the poor, hippies and cowboys
Old couples, little kids
Survivors of the holocaust
Marines home just in time
Well, we know where they go
But whence came these drifters?
Some just showed up on the porch, quietly waiting,
like they had an appointment
Others came in little squeaking boxes and
Relentless hands fed them with bottle and nipple
Their mothers lost
Until irresistibility became full value
And they rode home on the leather seat
of the Rolls Royce
