ALL I HAVE TO SAY
I walk around Koreatown
where billboards obstruct
the sky when I look up.
What is the point of so many
of them is all I have to say?
I look up at them as I see
more of them being installed.
I could do without them.
I rather see the sky and clouds.
So much wasted space.
One day the skies will be gone.
We will go blind looking at the ads.
All we will see of the stars are more
ads. We look at all the pretty
colours from all the signs and
barely a slice of moonlight.
The planet will be obliterated
by the blight of floating billboards.
This is all I need to say.
Why try and deny
that everything that is going up
is another thing we do not need.
For years I have looked
in the distance
counting on the sky to be there.
THE CHILD-WIND
I conversed with the child-wind
who went by delirium.
It played its childlike games
blowing hats off the heads
of older women and men
walking to church.
When they stooped to pick up
their hats the child-wind blew
the hats only a few steps away
to entice them to try to pick up
the hats again until they gave up
from exhaustion.
I asked the child-wind why it
was so mean. It told me to keep
quiet if I did not want it to blow
my hat away to the next city.
The child-wind told me it was
only kidding. It told me how lonely
it felt. It said I was the only human
it ever conversed with. It said
it was just me, and a small bird that it
spoke to. It said the small bird
was its closest friend and I was
a close second by a little bit.
MULISH
I reach for the dictionary
when I read certain poets
because I was too stubborn
to learn certain words in
school or to read what was
in the curriculum. Do not
get me wrong. I love words
and reading. I just picked
the books I wanted to read.
My mulish ways cost me
in gaining knowledge that
could have shaped my words
in different ways. Still, I think
I did alright. I watch the sun
setting in the distance. I can
describe it in simple words
whereas a less mulish man
could adorn the words with
words I could not imagine
using. I do not want to get
carried away or show off. I
let night overcome the day
as I write under stars which
I cannot see from the inside
of my room unless I look out
the window with half my
body hanging out. I would
not want to fall or hurt myself.
Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, born in Mexico, now lives in California and works in Los Angeles. His poetry has appeared in Blue Collar Review, Borderless Journal, Hobo Camp Review, Mad Swirl, and Unlikely Stories. His poetry book, Peering into the Sun, was published by Poet’s Democracy.
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