La Pura Neta

(inspired by Joe Brainard's I Remember// https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/text/joe-brainard-i-remember) I remember the first time I learned the hand signal for ‘head’. I was wearing my ‘I heart NY’ shirt, sitting across from a boy who just flunked sixth grade. I remember the first time I saw a home with two wives. We (the kids) ate pizza and talked about Star Fox. The adults all had tortillas in their hands while watching Congo. I remember the roads we took while driving in (or out) of Mexico. I remember Spanish rock ballades about flying love and who to call ‘daddy’. I remember one long night in a van when my aunt banged her fist against the drivers head rest yelling for him to stop the car. She had to puke. I remember feeling like the van, so heavy with passengers, could easily fall into the abyss because it was pitch black outside. The only light came from the radio and the van headlights. I remember shopping for Christmas clothes with my dad...

Fuck your blank walls and clean floors (with your piss all over the toilet seat) Fuck your Sweet Caroline’s and Eileen’s Fuck your extra bright light bulb by the excessively large, one toilet, bathroom (men lurk around the corner with glass bottles, in the dark) Fuck your pointless struggle to survive when, your name is seared on everything when, your face makes everything better when, your attention is a blessing                               (in disguise) But, we all matter. we all struggle to fulfill our dreams we all are men and women made equally under god. Survival is a privilege blessed upon the most fittest beings… …Who happen to own season tickets to the front row.

I. Walking with a friend down the alley where we met- it’s a pebble street. Reminds us of Mexico, a place we used to call home. II. Pounding and drilling to build this new building where you can view the lake if you can afford it. III. For lunch I had toast with some tune and veggies but it got soggy. It was very messy but it tasted very good. IV. I was so wrapped up in figuring out the best way to eat my toast when I looked up I felt like the world slapped me awake. V. Latin street food to go- as if that wasn't what it already is when cooked at home then sold by uncles on their painted carts. VI. children dance to a jig tune played by the elder womans shamisen at the washington platform waiting for the train to come. (( Tanka: A Japanese form of five lines with 5, 7, 5, 7, and 7 syllables—31 in all http://www.poetryfoundation.org/learning/glossary-term/tanka))