i was a pocho hater too

i
remember
walking
on sundays’
along
Revolution
Ave.

seeing
my own,
laughing,
standing
outside
the disco
tugurio
as
I
passed
by
with
my mil
máscaras
look.

escuchaba
sus
voices
so
pocho,
i
understood
clearly
esas cosas
being
said.

i
heard
en
sus
voces
they were
mexican
too.

yet
my back
did
turn
i

¡presumidos!
odio
bubbled
up
¡pinches fresas!

hate
breathed
through
my
nostrils
as i
heard
esas
palabras
inglesas
salir
de esos
labios
como
like
mine.