Poetry

Grandpa's Rodeo Migration

You drove to Greeley. Your Stetson hat in the distance on the horizon of that hot black highway.

Remind me, when did the roosters begin to scream? A cacophony of crowing, so loudly, so proudly to go north.

Go north paisa!

Take the black truck. Trace the yellow lines and race me to the tire swing

There I wait for you. Near the irrigation ditches and honey stand where the wood is half rotten. In there, in the ditches, where the sun has cracked my flesh and turned me sweet. Hurry quick before the coyotes reach me first.

Hurry quick, hurry quick, hurry quick, before I can no longer remember your face.

Today

I will sit neatly on my knees for you

Lay my head on your alter

Tomorrow will come either way

Then they will drag me from your pews

Slam my head on the pavement

For the masses to see

To lick their chops at the scene

Or turn their heads from me

While the migrants weep

So I will sing for you today

I will love my neighbor

I will sweep the street

I will kneel at your alter

Lay my head at your feet