"Only gangs that are cool name themselves after us.
Bold, red letters dripping blood down the backs
of their smooth black leather jackets.
We swim towards blood the way some people cross
an imaginary line into the United States
to pick lettuce or sink their hands
into small oceans of soapy water,
bring dishes back to life, iridescent as oyster shells,
slurped dry at a Republican fundraiser for the governor
of California, who will later pour gas into the ocean
and hand out matchsticks.
Like the lettuce pickers and dishwashers,
all we are good for is finding trouble.
We carry fearsome switchblades and are
born knowing how to use them.