Xochi's Tale

Is it my fault I'm part rat terrier, part
the kind of dog who lives in a lady's lap?
I didn't ask to be bottom mutt in the pack
that runs untamed through the twisted trash-strewn streets
in Xochiapulcho, I didn't ask to be plucked
up by a pair of gringos. First, they took
away my manhood. No more sweet reek
of bitches, no hot pursuits, no garbage rot.
When they packed up to go back to the USA
I thought they'd cry, then dump me out, but no.
Macho mestizo, my entry papers say.
Who dines in style and sleeps the sleep of kings
ought dream no more of his rowdy half-starved days. . .
I dwell in heaven but without the wings.

Copyright © 2007 Maxine Kumin All rights reserved
from Alehouse
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission