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Fall
2005
~Shootout~
~Insomnia~
SHOOTOUT
My friend Clarita thinks she’s Salma Hayek,
the Desperado chica. Not Frida Kahlo. She fires
her hair, the color of frijoles negros, across
nixtamalado skin every time a boy calls her name.
Eyes a big case of loaded weapons. They’re brown
like cow’s dung. She puts on her makeup
with a palette knife that Diego Rivera
might have used. And her body’s as paunchy
as the broken down couch on the porch,
the same bulky shape as her five sisters and her mama
with the little boy mustache that turns white from powdered
sugar when she eats cuernitos, which is quite often. Clarita
tells me she loves Miguel. But I think he likes
the Frida Kahlo type, which I am.
INSOMNIA
Sky as bright as a giant’s wink
shifts me from my dream orbit.
Reveries empty like pockets
at the end of the day.
I watch clouds corner
a foundling moon
after chasing it half the night.
I hear raindrops batter
the window pane
like daddy’s hand.
poems
copyright 2005
Lori
Romero
artwork:
Portrait of a Young Girl, Joan
Miro
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