How many of you have sexy grandmas?
I got one.
OK, well.
All right.
I'm going to read one here.
Let's see.
This is from the new manuscript.
From the new manuscript called Black Mesa Poems.
"One Year in the Life of El Gato."
I tossed yesterday's tortillas to pack dogs at the door.
With bared fangs, grunt scarf, smoldering,
matted, scruff fur hackled up, they eat.
Then they slouch away, snouts in weeds for chance scraps.
And mournful whines and whimpers,
heel nipping with floppy, sagging lop sided shuffle,
they cross fields towards Oñate Feedmill,
where they gnaw hooves and snarl over gutted intestines
at the back door of the slaughterhouse.
They sleep in the Rio Grande bosque.
And walking there myself at night,
I've seen their eyes glint in the brush.
Bloody obsidian knife blades, dripping with the day's blood.