When I wrote this poem, I thought it would be one of those pieces that never gets published. Much too quirky, I thought.

So I was amazed when The East Bay Review accepted it for its summer issue. Thanks, guys!




For Dr. S. Rueda


On the night Chavez died

I needed to feel drunk

So I called my son’s pediatrician

Told him I wanted to be happy

He said I should be happy

I didn’t mention the wine

Maybe he figured and it wasn’t the first time

First I mixed white formula with water

Then drank enough to sway

With the people on TV

Even a teat gets tired

Of being just a teat


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