The Sink

The sink stayed the same:
full of water
dirty water with
long hair of my son
my stubble thicker
by the year.

Suddenly
and without sound
an empty sink
save some gray beard
and maybe some paste:
small miracles.
Who says it is not
an Act of God.

matador

murderer
in any other language
is just that:
cold-blooded
cliche murder.

matador: what if
you lose and you become
the pile of carnage
to be cut up
and given to the poor
outside the coliseum
of death?

murder in any other language
is just the bull talking.
Bulls do talk don't they?
the bull.

Let's talk about
something else:
how about matamoros?
let's leave it at
matamoros
in any other
name is
still murder.

unstable

just like a charge
that is lacking its opposite
I can see in your eyes
the tears trying to come out
of a sentimental life
boisterous with telenovelas
that have become your script
of our life
that has not been ours
and has not been a life.

positive
negative
one falls
the other
becomes
unstable.

endgame

I wrote you a check
and taped it onto my door
so you could pay your rent
and not bounce
and blame me.

Instead of being grateful,
you tore the check
into pieces
painstakingly
on my front porch:
thanks for
your gratitude,
thanks for
the memories