The next poem is also kind of local,
although you can find this most places in this country.
But it's just based on buying these great tortillas and bean
burros down at the El Grande Tortilla Factory here in town.
And in a sense, looking at those things,
it's almost as if they go so perfectly together,
just like a stucco and adobe house does.
It's all a unity and I guess that's what culture is about.
So this is a kind of funny poem, you could almost
call it kayak-y in a way.
It's also what I'd call a shit eating poem.
Anyway, it's called Bean Burro.
The little faces curled, a blanket between them.
Whitewashed walls roughening into dreams.
Mother's soft adobe.
The sun hammers it dry.
Brilliant as dust, this desert.
I'll cut it myself into bricks.
All my teeth mud caked, glittering.