Wednesday, February 21, 2007

YOUR MORSE CODE OR ... .._ .. _._. .. _.. .

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for dad

I have a gun and could use it

to end my suffering

spare others the trouble

of having to care and then

if in the past I am also gone

then those no-name, with our people's faces,

those hundreds, no, more

did not perish on that

icy cold Korean

covered in white clouds

from the cannons they put in my hands

I murdered and for what

there was no glory in being

a minimum wage gun for hire

my rage at what I did

lasted a life time

though I tried to drown it

in alcohol

like my father before me

unlike him I was always pulled

from the drink at the last minute

liquid claws weren't strong enough

to keep me under, though now

a lure of those voices in

the loss of air and anesthesia

got me in touch with all their souls

who wanted me with them

© Odilia Galván Rodríguez, 2007

The Yucatan Penninsula


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