Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal

 

GET OUT OF MY ROOM

You have to place your hand on my Bible. This will grant you entry into my personal space. You have to look me in the eye, swear on my Book, and say you're one of God's creatures. Get out of my room if this does not sit well with you. If that is the case, then for sure you are damned. I will make sure to pray that your belly swells and that your heart stops beating. I will make certain that tears of blood gush out from your eyes, nostrils, ears, and mouth. You can't come into my room tainted. You must be cleansed of all the filth you bring in from the streets. If you have any decency, you will place your hand on my Bible. May the Lord
forgive you on your drive home: I am not so forgiving.

within his Bible
the patient crushes a fly
in the Exodus chapter

 

LITTLE GODS

Isn't it funny,
how we come to a decision
on what we kill?
Flies, roaches, and rats
we will kill with a clear conscience.
Certain spiders, crickets, and rabbits
we will spare or feel guilty about
when we take their lives
in moments of weakness.
Ants, mosquitoes, and moths
we will step on, swat, or slap
with malicious intent.
Crows, dolphins, and other humans
we won't kill, unless we lose
our sense in a fit of rage.
It is a trait humans possess-
like the little gods that we are-
we make decisions on
who will live and who will die.

 

DEEP GRAVE

In the abundant sky
a darkness
seems to have
held the day hostage.

It is almost as if time
stands still.
The chirping
of crickets has stopped.

I wonder if I'm under
a deep grave.
This must be the reason
for such darkness.


 
HUMDRUM


I.

just up the street
follow the newspaper clippings
other litter
the big city

6 a.m. and dim
walking briskly
black shoes
white shirt, slacks

there it stands
the tall building
on Main Street
guard at the door smiles

half asleep
the both of us


II.

there, at the elevator
flyers, bake-sale
a retirement announcement
I can't wait

up, up, I'm there
press the code on the door
just a few more steps
the cubicle

small and cluttered
a computer, a printer
the telephone:
tools of the trade

I listen to the messages
urgent and some not mine


III.

I'm drinking coffee
trying to get going

work is for suckers
reads the post-it sticker
on the right-top-side
of the computer

a fellow employee's
joke, and I could tell
who the culprit is
by the handwriting

making paper airplanes
calling his wife at home

arguing: everyone
can hear everything
that goes on in his life
I don't give a damn

lunchtime passes by
in a breeze
I'm checking the clock
wishing to be home

and it's here
and another day gone
I follow the newspaper clippings
to my car...

 



Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
      “No one can teach you how to write a poem.” I have been writing for several years. Pygmy Forest Press will publish my first book of poems sometime this summer (2003), title, “Raw Materials. I have poems and short stories at unlikely stories and pemmican press



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