Cabrona

Back when I used to be ghetto

18th street raised me on the finer things in

vida. Scorching summer's cracked & sizzled

chicharones. I lick my palms stained with Tajin

as hot chips taint the tips of my

dedos.         ¡Cabrona!      me dijeron

but quizas me

gustaba. Perhaps I liked the way cabrona

soaked my taste buds in carbon y licor, carne asada

y tortillas. Motorola phones y cigarros quemaban

wooden floors painted that same

cafecito con lechita which coats my grandmother’s

piel. Bruises and scars polish the tender

doors that seal our ghetto estate.