Steven Kent
What do you believe when you see
my Buick? You do not understand
the red flames and black paint.
My rims spin, el mariachi canta,
la bandera ondea.
Will you say it looks foolish,
quizás, a bit ridiculous?
You might look
and laugh.
This land, this big city—
of highways and skyscrapers,
restaurants and shopping centers,
computers and cell phones.
Mi hija,
do you have to learn
it is better,
these city comforts?
Please see what I have done.
La musica y la bandera son nuestras.
I painted the flame and built this frame,
like the tapestry abuela made.
Your bicycle of rusted metal,
your broken pedal,
the plastic pool won’t fix,
the center will completely split.
