crossed the bridge in ‘55
in faded blues,
fruit of the loom cotton
shirt on my back

for a twenty and a five
bought a U.S. visa
this tirilon, ranchero,
watermelon-eating Mexicano
from the valley of Guadalupe

spit-shine shoes
brillantina-slick back hair
my comb is ready
my spit is wet
can’t catch me unprepared

took the trolley to Los Lagartos Plaza
back when the crocodiles lived
under the cotton-wood trees
.5 cents a ride for you, mister!
yells the gringo.

for a quarter rode a taxi to San Eli
picked pecans, built a pig pen
stir some adobes for the Mr.
lived on thank yous and maybes

hitched a ride to Arizona
then bussed my ass to Okie town
to the onion fields of Bakersfield

kissed your white land
broke my back
sweat a few tears for a piece of the dream

Februrary 23rd is anniversary date
fifty years of American me
not a lick of English to prove me right

still smell the onions
on my fingertips.