Distance
Between me, my father
Sacks of onions, fields of sweat
American born, speaking no English
Yet, well providing for the English-speaking world
Of hand-picked onions for happy, American grills
Distance
Between me, my future
Stacks of books, proliferation of papers
Mexican tested, getting on by
With English picked up from comic books
Where “Batman” was the first English word spoken
Distance
Between me, my ethnicity
Those hot, onion fields so long, long ago
For American classrooms that never, never end
For those that ended many decades ago
Abruptly for my onion-picking father
Distance
Between that boy, this man
Is what I have made of it
Is what I have left to speak for
On improving that long, distant dream
That was originally my father’s very own
Do you want to be a poet, the likes of Juan Manuel Perez? Be then, citizen of your city, having arrived there, as wayfaring son of your heritage.
Gracias Paula!!!