A Poor People’s Poem
©1998 Olga Angelina García
This poem
angry
corajudo
bold
has got
a bad attitude
un genio from hell
and you
you’re afraid
of my poem
afraid of this
deep dark red poem
that bleeds
woman words
you
you’re afraid
cuz even though
this poem
*is*
about survival
it isn’t about
endangered whales
or dying forests
Listen
this is a poor woman’s poem
a Mexicana
Chicana
Mestiza
India
Mujer
Este de Los Angeles
poem
Yeah
this poem’s
got roaches crawling
all over it
and tiny pink mice
nibbling at the edges
and corners of
simple-everyday words
Listen this poem rides the bus
works 12 hours a day
7 days a week
with no medical benefits
and no paid vacations
Listen
this poem
has crossed rivers
and mountains
jumped over
and crawled under
barb-wired fences
this poem
has slaved
in hot-sun pesticide fields
picking
piscando
your lettuce
tomatoes
oranges
onions
picking
piscando
the vegetables
and fruits
that make your meals
nice and balanced
And this poem
has worked all kinds of shifts
in inner-city factories
sewing
packaging
stuffing
cutting
folding
ironing
the clothes you wear
the jeans
the shirts
the jackets
that keep you
in style
Yeah
this is a poor woman’s poem
a brown people’s poem
so you see
right now
we don’t want to talk about
the ozone layer
We
the people in this poem
we wanna talk about where we live
about affordable housing
about how the hot water doesn’t work
and the windows don’t close
about the Never-no-heat-in-the-winter
Sit-u-a-tion
we wanna talk about drugs
about the alcohol cocaine crack heroin
impregnating our communities
making modern colonized brown black slaves of us
we wanna talk about food stamps
about jobs and fair wages
about 12 hour shifts
and working conditions
we wanna talk about the police
about choke-hold
and billy clubs
about busted heads
and handcuffed minds
about sharp-teeth dogs
and shackled freedom
about racist cops
who hate
poor
brown
black
people
we wanna talk about dying
about the river of blood
flowing where we live
about the heads of 2 year old babies
scattered on concrete floors
about the mountain of bodies here
outlined in white chalk
So you see
right now
we don’t wanna hear you preach
about recycling
cuz poor people like us
we’ve always recycled
we invented the damn word
and out of necessity
recycled our papers, cans, bottles
recycled our socially constructed poverty
recycled even our dreams
So you see
we do wanna talk
but talk about lies
about Am er i KKK a
about treaties broken
and lands and people stolen
we wanna talk about
S L A V E R Y
U.S. colonization
Third World penetration
And you
you’re afraid
of my poem
afraid of the East side poem
holding hands
with El Salvador
Nicaragua
Tijuana
Chiapas
Pico-Union
holding hands
with
SWETO
South Africa
South Central L.A.
Yeah
I know
you’re afraid
of this
brown black
poor people’s poem
This poem
pregnant with power
waiting to be born
[click to view introduction]