for John Olivares Espinoza

You are nothing like my father.
                                             And like my father
you are nothing.
                               Zambo. Castizo.
Without draft animals
                               the Mexica used the wheel
                                                          only as a toy.
Please keep off the lawn.
                               Green mirrors are asleep
beneath the grass.
                               In graduate school a landlord asked,
Here to pick strawberries?
                               “Y me vine de Hermosillo/
en busca de oro y riqueza.”
                                                          Are your hands
always so dirty?
                               Slip a finger in my mouth.
I’ll devour the grime
                        under the nail.
                                             Pomegranate, grenade.
Sometimes in order to say a word
                                                          it’s necessary
to spit it out. A spic sells seashells
                               on the seashore. Assonance
is often considered a blemish
                                             by corrido singers.
You walk out with a French horn in your arms
                                                          and you’re a butcher
in El Dorado holding
                        the golden entrails of cattle.

*Poem borrows language from Angela de Hoyos and Américo Paredes.