Juanito’s Dream

Juanito grew up with a velveteen rabbit
in his hand and a gun by his side.

On his sixth birthday his junkyard owning Dad
gave him a clutch of rainbow balloons.

He climbed the rusted skeleton of a Cadillac, 
held the beautiful Mylar to the sky 

and prayed to be taken to heaven.
The answer was the sour tasting rain.

On his sixteenth birthday his Dad gifted 
him a lowrider made from a gold Eldorado. 

Juanito’s Dream had clouds melting 
in strings of yellow sunshine, 

purple velvet trim all inside and a 
Smith & Wesson .38 in the glove box.

Amara and Angela, the most popular girls,
slid close, next to him, in the warm front seat.

There names were tattooed grandly 
on their torsos in a Castilian script.

Their two black and white pit bulls
jumped into the back, playfully feuding.

The threesome cruised around, chanting : 
“Bajito y despacito; limpio y lindo.”
( Low and slow, clean and mean.)

A noisy police helicopter on routine patrol 
hovered overhead , followed briefly, then left,

disappearing into the sky and palms, 
pass the billboard proclaiming 
“La ciudad no es segura.”
(The city is not safe.)

When they got to Pueblo del Rio
projects, they kissed and departed,

agreeing to do this all over again 
for Halloween and Dia de los Muertos.

When Juanito opened his eyes 
the day became forever night,

a loud bang pierced his dreams and
his head slumped into his velvet love.

Halloween came. So did Dia de Los Muertos.
Thirteen low riding Eldorados with death mask drivers 

prowled the street during the fiestas.
The people wondered, argued, believed, feared

that surely, as they lived and breathed, that 
one of them must have been Juanito’s Dream.