Green

 
are the leaves
of your family tree
rusted names
like freeway signs––
               my heart races
               in reverse––
the sky splits
penetrated by
a couple of thieves
against the red light.
They run to be the first
in putting their hand
inside your mind
to dig out change
crumbs of memories
whatever little value 
& mom's giant makeup bag––
the best insurances
       have come & gone
       frauded
collected
and made your silence
greener than ever.

Green daily mota 
on the commute
& peace
after
the war
the absolute
trade
of
Mother Earth
                       memory &
               smoke
out the exhaust
clouding
the street

Glen
       Rain
           Eras
               Epigrams
                   Nightstands
casting shadows of la santa muerte
on the shelf looking over my father
holding stones & crystals—the world
& my fortune.

When I was a child
dad drove a Nissan Tsuru
in a green city
before crossing the border
in a dark
trunk
hidden
from the agent
uniformed
in the colors of my flag: hope. grief. blood.
Dad made a deal with his boss
He gave up smoking
for his two kids to learn
the reality of Valet 
his second son
became a freelancing
ashtray instead,
got married
with the most beautiful
green-eyed
girl
and the world, today
spins
in reverse.

I drive through the serpentine belt

en route
to Tenochtitlan
before the invasion
                             (when everything was green hope)

I run over Cortés
& flowerfart
on his corpse.

My mossy car circulates today
and tomorrow as well
so fasten your seatbelts, homies!