Tuesday, December 27, 2005

Juan Martinez


For Penjamo’s son.

I hear the cars racing
Engines purring
Like cats on steroids
In Portland
I could hear
All the way to
The international speedway
From my front porch
As I drank beer
Or played guitar
Or just sat there
Doing nothing at all
Here I listen to them racing
On Popotla boulevard
From my desk
As I tried to write
And then the cops come
And chase the racers
And cars crash
People die
Then I am told
Of funeral services
For my friend’s son
And I sit here
Looking at the keyboard
Drinking & smoking
Listening to the engines
Vibrating through
The darkness
Of the ocean


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