DAY LABORER

Always remaining in a metropolis

in whereabouts I linger over my desires,

vague symptoms of poor morals hidden under

a coffee shop on the corner,

poor morals hidden under

an elite school in the city

poor morals hidden under

a shitty apartment ceiling in Brooklyn,

frozen rivers & slippery streets at the precipice.

Morning after morning,

the undocumented immigrants

gather outside the Home Depot parking lot.

We are indigenous and mestizos.

Extra cold hands to paint cozy walls.

I am from the southwest;

I am one of the many children of The Real America.

We are coming back to the north. We never left.

The Shangri-La of dust breathing noses

waiting for a new job,

or doing what the boss says for one day

who don’t care about our heavy arms,

extra cold hands to paint cozy walls.

Here is the snow, I wander,

unarmed for a while,

today is another chance to stay longer.

Always remaining in a metropolis

in whereabouts I linger over my desires,

vague symptoms of poor morals.

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