This poem is dedicated to the braceros who
were sprayed with pesticides when they entered
into this country to work.
This poem is called "When They Spray Us With Pesticides."
Now there is a porta-potty.
Now there is a bus with a roof.
We are dreaming of resting, working nightmares
because without the work we will die.
And I thought to myself the other day,
"I wish someone would pay me to live."
We are at the end of a very long dystopian
novel that's been happening for a few 1,000 years.
And yet I deserve to be human.
It's like they think I don't know that.
They, being the colonizer.
They, being the fascists.
They, being the state.
[APPLAUSE]