some say they drove for hours
in those first american days
looking for the famous blue grass, laughing
"y lo llaman azul?"
some mock college gringos
say: "oh Che"
like his communisim
were a radical dildo.
some say "con Kahlua"
is a dripping fan, nights
are bobbing tear-moons—that kind of thing.
some say european farmers
tried to make it rain in a briefcase
rather than scattering jungle
where a jungle should be.
some say "mis papeles!?"
and hunt for rolls of tissue paper
in the supermarket.
some say "andale, Carlitos"
and throw me the reins to my parents'
mixed-blood divorce, say i should ride it straight
into Havana like a rodeo pig
some say they still mumble machado-
alchemy, call out private
names for diaspora in their sleep:
Alejo, Raulito, Blanqie, Ojeda, Davita, they say,
each on rising to be counted
like panthers leaping over doubling water
- Carlos Price-Sanchez (from Sixth Finch)