Le Police de Texas

August 11, 2012

Here’s to trying to get involved again. Trying. Just trying. (More like just going along for the ride Mansie gave me so I could get out and see people I once knew.)

Meh. This can be added as an attempt in a part of my “Goals for Therapy,” if you remember.

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I took this photo at the protest I went to, two–or was it three–weeks ago? It was to raise the downtown office janitors’ wages which is terrible in Houston. There were other issues involved in the protest (think 99% and 1% Wall Street), but the main issue here was the janitors, which are mainly Latino immigrants. Many organizations and such were involved. It was my first protest in over a year, and I met a beautiful tattooed Brazilian girl that day.

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There were four cops on horses in every street corner. There were also many arrests. Wish I wouldn’t ‘a shopped off the beautiful horses’ feet though. And who knew cop cars, horses and a couple hundred protesters could make so much ear-bleeding noise! I wanted to chop my bloody ears off, Van Gogh style.


Taken with my crappy Nokia camera phone. (Yeah, I forgot my awesome Nikon that day! Fuckin’ anxiety.)

Because

for T.H.L. because he knew me so well

Because the dead don’t
wake in a rage,
two silky bones,
chalky fingers
calmly linger
and ask for more.
“Two more please.”
As if Consuelo needs
another drink.

Because the dead
don’t wake with hunger,
two bandit mice
scurry down the table
filled with fruit and
the drops left of
Consuelo’s
Modelo.

Because he had wanted
to savor the dreams
of a well dressed man,
they migrated
from country to city
and adapted to
ambitious conditions
of this land.

Because the uncertainties
fogged them,
they built a meager home.
What once were two
heavy cheeks
are now
fleshless visages
that dart
melancholy.

Because they have drank
each other bloodless,
his spirit wafts now
beyond flasks and cantinas
still singing, echoing
“My love’s consumed
like a cigarette”.
So goes the cliché.

Because he is now
a nameless man,
a busker with
a guitar in hand,
he serenades her with his
drudging charade.

Because the dead don’t
have trouble sleeping,
and
“Because,” his stony jaw exudes
“women were the death of me,
there’s something
liberating
this death brings”.

© Paz

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Today’s prompt: an ekphrastic/ekphrasis poem, which is a “dramatic description of a visual work of art.”

Today also marked a month and a day since I found out about L’s death. I’m sure he’d laugh/is laughing at the dark humor I tried to get in this one–after all, it’s for him. Oh, and the poem is based on a painting he owned (I have no idea who has it now) but I took a picture of it the day I hung out with him during the Superbowl, and though I hadn’t wanted to look at those pictures, I will upload the picture of the painting that goes with this poem tomorrow. It’ll make more sense when you see the painting. Maybe I’ll catch up on yesterday’s Earth Day poem too.

These last two were difficult to get through. Whew.

But the fact that you guys are actually reading them encourages me, really.

Xxx