a poem by roberto cruz jr.
There’s not much to it, this writing, really.
Just take some words out of the air,
and put them to the paper
or type them to the computer screen.
If that won’t do,
if you want to go above mediocrity,
if you want more than just words. . .then
Think of all the absurdity that breathes
around you with every step of the clock.
Think of the houses around you
Devoid of life despite the living, breathing
Beings that reside in them.
Think of that asshole once,
not even giving you a nod
as you opened a shop door
for his purchases and
strollered children in tow.
That should slightly piss you off enough
To get your hand to writing, your fingers to typing.
Think of the nervous cashier
that works at the cornerstore.
Think of her eyes that never meet yours.
Think of how in the ten years
You’ve known her
Hardly ten words have
Been exchanged between the both of you.
Surely, that’s worth a line or two,
Maybe an entire poem.
Think of the millions of people
giving in to defeat all over the globe.
They’re all over the place.
In every continent and country,
In every city and village.
Tokyo is spilling over with them.
Barcelona has more than her share.
Katmandu has its deluge, too.
A little island off the southern tip
Of South America is populated with them.
Defeated souls even reside in the circles
Of the Australian aborigines.
That’s your muse, brother,
sister.
Still can’t get it right, you say.
Ok, ok, since you insist.
Think of the Marias and Sonias
And Almas and Marissas
bathed in their own sweat
in the countless factories
of Ciudad Juarez, Mexico City, Saltillo.
Think of the misery they toil over everyday
Only to go home to more misery.
Their señores drunk again, banging around
The children yet again, demanding their dinner
Be served steaming hot.
Think of Hitler in his heyday,
That stupidly-mustached waste of human flesh.
Think of SS soldiers
tossing Jews into Auschwitz ovens
like they were Sunday baked potatoes.
Think of Germans like those
grinding their yellow Nazi teeth in glee.
That should give you a few lines to write down.
Think of a local unregistered pedophile
planning his next greasy move.
That should get a writing rise out of you.
Think of the husband and wife,
fifty years married, and
never has each the other
heard a rising moan of ecstasy come out
of the other’s mouth lying just mere
inches from them in the darkness.
Shame like that should get you going.
Sexlessness like that should get your writing gears steaming.
These and many other
things should give you a start,
something to write about.
If not,
I’ll leave you with this:
Think of you, yourself,
once at a county fair,
sitting on some steel bleachers,
watching a band in a pavilion,
there alongside you, both your
parents, your Mother, your Father,
and you knowing so completely
right there and then–
your heart glowing inside you
like a fiery-red beet–
that you could
never leave this life and
go into death
saying that
you had never been loved.
If a thing like that can’t make you put
A pen to paper,
Then I’d advise you
give up this writing life.
Editor’s note: Mr. Cruz is a poet of some standing in local circles and has done readings as far away as San Antonio. He has operated poetry reading nights at the Harlingen museum and the now-defunct Philosopher Dave’s Bar. Currently he directs a reading night at Java Café, 204 E Jackson St, Harlingen, TX. Yours truly attended this event last Wednesday and, while the crowd was small, essentially the assembled readers and three or four more, it was enthusiastic and supportive for the readers. More on this later when the pictures arrive.
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