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​​SOMOS EN ESCRITO
The Latino Literary Online Magazine

POETRY
​POESÍA

“Eat the rich”

3/8/2022

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Three poems from City on the Second Floor with review and short interview with poet Matt Sedillo

L.A. is Full of Pigs
 
 
Los Angeles is falling apart
In the streets, in the suburbs
                                                                      In the wind
                              In a barely kept Hollywood bathroom
Wheezing, vomiting, coughing up blood
The past few days, these past few years
                              I have spread myself across this sprawl
                                                                                        And now fear this drive may kill me
May kill us all and I wander
                                          Over to general hospital
         Between whose walls desperation wears in high concentration upon the faces of the shopworn
And prematurely ill alike as they await upon news of illness they cannot afford to have
                                        Survival without insurance
                                            This may take a while
                             Los Angeles
                                                  Is full of untold misery
A homeless man sleeps next to me and I can smell the years of hard distance between who he is now
                 And who he may have been
        And all that stands between him and the bitter wind
Is chance, is the kindness of a night nurse who will let him sleep in peace
                                    Los Angeles is full of good people
                                           Who from time to time
                                            Can turn a blind eye
                                                 To killer policy
And I wonder how many more bounced checks, free clinics, carry cash
                                                                                                          And leave the account in the negative
                                                                       Stand between me and him, me and the bitter wind and if so
                            Where would I go from Venice to San Francisco
           There is an outright war on the homeless
        A war on the dispossessed, there are fewer and fewer options
They got shelters for women and children, all inadequate
But for me just man up homeboy
To that concrete pillow
To that cardboard blanket
And freeze your ass to death
                                              Yes, this city will leave you to die
              On the same stretch of sidewalk where banks stretch into the sky
And I wonder as even now skid row Is being gentrified
                                     As this city
                                  As this system
                                    As the pigs
                                  Push people
                                  Past poverty
                                  Past hunger
                           Past homelessness
                Towards the very edge of existence
                                   On Skid Row
                                                     Where all the so-called complexities of an economy
          Are laid bare, where the rich are literally stacked upon the poor
                                 Los Angeles
                  Is full of grotesque absurdity
Especially on skid row
Where they spend millions
Annually policing the misery of people with nowhere to go
Because when your pockets are empty
             And you aint got nothing
                   And change is just not coming
                      There is no real difference
Between a booming metropolis and a barren desert
And the world of money
Passes by you
Passes through you
        As though you
Were just part
          Of the scenery
Protected in the knowledge
They are serviced by pigs
Who speak the language of violence
The language
Of the nightstick
The language
Of untold misery
That will beat you for begging
          Beat you for sleeping 
        Beat you for breathing
Beat you
For doing whatever it is you need to do
           To survive the night
                     In the bitter wind
                                        Los Angeles
                                                Is full of pigs
​The Rich
 
                                                        The rich, well they're not like you and me 
               They see an opportunity and they grab it reach for the stars
And they, put ‘em in their pocket 
                                       Company stays in the red
                                                                          But they're backed by the government 
Snort the public dime into lines of pure profit 
                                                                       Research and development 
 
The rich, well they're a different breed
                                                 Champagne wishes and caviar dreams 
Thoroughbred stallions, quarter billion mansions on the sea
                                               Deepwater Horizon 
                       Blood diamonds 
                                                       Golden parachutes 
                                                                      Silicon messiahs 
Feasting on endangered species
                                        Served on silver platters in winter palaces carved from the tips of icebergs 
                             Six-figure charters
       Vulture capital 
                                      Million-dollar cufflinks plucking life like an apple 
                          Insured by suicide nets 
Lifestyles of the criminally negligent 
                                                                                                                 But you haven't lived 
                                         Until you've launched a car into space for no fucking reason 
Now that's what I call freedom 
                                                       
        The rich, well here's how it is 
                    Dollars and cents 
                            Trademark and rent 
                                        Facts and figures 
Lines on a ledger 
                                                                                                                   Derivatives and debt 
                                                           Building the future 
                                                        Increasing productivity 
                                                           Union busting back 
                                                  To the hundred-hour work week 
          Trimming the fat 
                Producing monopolies
                      With real money shortages and bets 
And that my friend is how the rich stay rich 
                              While the rest, make poor decisions 
                  And it's pure ecstasy 
           Living in the lap of luxury 
Pushing pharmaceuticals 
                       At the markup 
                              The market 
                                  Will bear your body 
                       To its altar 
             At a life-or-death bargain 
        The gospel 
    Of wealth 
Cause it is what it is 
And that's all it’s ever been 
                                              The less we spend 
                                              The more we keep 
                                              
                                               You see the rich 
                                                 And the poor 
                               Well, they're just like you and me 
Two hands 
Two feet 
The sky 
The sea
And everything between 
One heart that beats 
And the time
To make the most of it 
                                             So, you'll find no sympathy 
                                                                           Reaching into these deep pockets
                 All we ever asked was our fair share
       And God damn it, that's all of it
                                    So, while you're out in the streets screaming for peace and justice
We’re sleeping in satin sheets dreaming free and guiltless over oceans and tariffs  liquidating pensions then off to bid on porcelain and portraits at billion dollar auctions
                 You know you need us 
                                 You know we're selling your secrets 
                 You know you still send us DNA kits
            Watching the puppets
On television
              Debate freedom free speech
                            Fascism, democracy while we reach into the earth
And fuel the economy
           With space stations
                                            Yes, space stations
                                                                   Hydrating the red planet
We’re gonna survive this lava pit
So you got pots and pans
We got deeds and plans
                                                    Chopping down rainforest
                                                                                               Colonizing the moon
                                          We’re the rich, who the fuck are you 
                                             We’ll privatize the water supply
                                                   Then copyright the tears
                                                              Falling
                                                                From
                                                                     Your
                                                                            Eyes
                        Burn it all down
           What the hell you talking about
The icecaps are already melting  
                                                 You wanna start some shit 
                                                                                                      Eat the rich 
We're already killing your kids 
One carbon footprint 
One gas house emission
One oil rig
One naval ship
One free 
Trade 
Agreement at a time  
                                                     And we'll get away with it too 
                                                                                                                                            Nothing we say or do 
                                                        Is ever held against us  
                                              Haven't you been paying attention 
                                                                  We’re rich  
​Hammurabi
 
                               I grew up on television and so did my parents 
                                                  I Love Lucy 
                                       Lied to them sweetly 
                                         America's 
                                 Favorite redhead
                               Desires suppressed 
                                 In separate beds 
                                    Censors rest
                                       Assured 
                           Everything in good taste 
                       Everything in its proper place 
                         Every traumatic episode
             Ends with the threat of Ricky's hand 
      Never far from Lucy's face
                                                          Beaming in glorious black and white 
                                                                      Wrong and right 
                                                             Plot lines shade out the gray
                                                                    On John Wayne's 
                                                                       Shining silver 
                                                                       City on a hill 
                                                                   Of guns and butter
Where every 
             School child's desk
                        Doubles as bomb shelter
              Praying to the altar of the unquestioned 
                                                                              So 
                                                              Pledge your allegiance
                                                               Seal your documents 
                                                                  And lock and load
                                                                      Your freedom 
                                                                Because it is not free
                                                            Now fall to your knees 
                                      And praise be 
                                                                                                  To the only God
                                                                                                  In which we trust 
                                                                            The Atom 
                                                                       The Manhattan
                                                                            Hiroshima 
                                                                            Nagasaki 
                                                                    The nuclear family
                                   Nuclear testing 
                                                                                                          In the nuclear age 
Gave way 
To nuclear waste
That's me
   See 
I grew up 
In the eighties
                    Morning in America
                                       Ronald Reagan 
                                                          And Mr. Belvedere 
               Fresh at my door  
     Telling me life was 
                                                            More than mere survival 
                                             That I 
                                Might live the good life 
                                                                Yet when my time came 
                                                                                            Homer Simpson 
                                                                                                            Peter Griffin 
                                                                                                                         Al Bundy  
                                         Were all lying in wait
                   To convince me 
              I could raise a family
                    In a two story 
               On the single income 
                                                                                                                    Of a shoes salesman 
They lied 
And I cry 
Not for myself 
But for this oncoming generation 
                                  Of IPAD kids 
                                                  On the Hulu and Netflix
                                              Where you pick your poison 
                                                    But it rots your mind 
                                                         Just the same 
                                                      See them at cafes
                                                             Sit sipping
                                                           Job seeking 
                                                          Asking the net 
                                                       For deeper meaning 
                                                                                                                                      Who am I 
                               Where do I belong 
                                                                        Of what use can I be
         In days such as these
                                   Kids born of go go gadgets
Wired to networks 
                                                                                                               Connected
                                                                                       Directed 
                                                                                                  To the latest trends
                                                                 Surf the web 
                           In search of themselves 
                                                                  No different 
                                                          From medieval serfs 
                                                           Waiting on the bells 
                                                         Of the Catholic Church 
                                                               For the latest in
                                                                     Holy writ
                                                                    Holy script 
                                                                     Holy this 
                                                                        Since
                                                                 The golden rule  
                                                          Of Pharaohs and Caesars 
                                                              Romulus and Remus
                                                               Akbar and Alexander 
                                                              Xerxes and Hammurabi 
                                                            Since the days of scribes
                                                             And the books of Kings 
                            Since they from on high 
                                                                                                   Convinced us down below
                                                  That we
            Ever
     Needed 
                           Their 
                                                Code 
                                                                Of law 
                To tell us 
                                                                               We were free

Reading by Matt Sedillo and short interview.
Cutting Noise, a review by Scott Duncan-Fernandez

Why should you read City on the Second Floor by Matt Sedillo to hear something anti-greed or anti-colonial? Can't you got to Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram to see posts counting coup with the may or may not be true and the armchair warriors armed with glibness and not even one sentence memes, instant espresso shots of thought?
 
Poetry can cut through the noise. Needed now more than ever. Poetry can serve us Chicanos as it did in the Chicano Movement and before, our activism and words melded. The earth is dying, working people are abused and it’s the rich driving it with their pharaonic greed. It’s a message that needs to be believed acted upon and repeated. City on the Second Floor has the tradition, has the words and message and cuts the distraction.
 
Sedillo can see us. He knows we are entertained to inaction and death with the violins of streamed shows as the world burns in “Hammurabi”:
“Of IPAD kids 
                                                  On the Hulu and Netflix
                                              Where you pick your poison 
                                                    But it rots your mind 
                                                         Just the same 
                                                      See them at cafes
                                                             Sit sipping
                                                           Job seeking 
                                                          Asking the net 
                                                       For deeper meaning”
 
We, our bodies and minds, are commodified to the same kind of internet glibness, smiling and disposable as he points out in “Post”:
“Smiling at your service to gig economy
                 Side hustle, millennial, post industrial standard
Hire me as an adjunct
Fire me as contingent
Into a city I cannot afford to live in
Tell me my credit score
Better yet, tell me yours 
Promise me the world, then show me the door” 
 
More than exploited, we are commodified and vilified so the system for the rich can keep eating us. Keep us inactive and watching the television we grew up on. In the “The Rich” he lays the destruction of this planet at their feet, they escape culpability, they don’t even have to look at the misery down below as they live on “the second floor.”

Sedillo says they even want to colonize the heavens in the poem “The Sky.” I love the poem as it mentions our ancestors, compares the “beautiful brown mobile proletariat native to the continent” and the connection and guidance from the monarchs. These butterflies are like hummingbirds, messengers from the underworld, and masses of them traverse California and more of Turtle Island. These creatures are threatened by the ruining of the environment as tourists and towns commodify them, not listening to their message in their journey:

They are dying, we are dying.

It’s the Space Force Sedillo mentions vs butterflies. The suffocation of the void vs breathing.

We get a lot of witnessing of trauma in the literature of raza; we get the much more needed denouncing and recrimination in Sedillo’s work. No settler is slumming his way through these words for titillation of viewing traumatic experiences.  Sedillo isn’t smiling. This isn’t a sideshow for masters. This is not Taco Tuesday.

Support this poet. Poetry is spellcraft and ritual to heal and name what must be changed. Read City on the Second Floor. Cut the noise.

City on the Second Floor is available at FlowerSong Press.

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​Born in El Sereno, California in 1981, Matt Sedillo writes from the vantage point of a second generation Chicano born in an era of diminishing opportunities and a crumbling economy. His writing—​a fearless, challenging and at times even confrontational blend of humor, history and political theory--is a reflection of those realities.

Scott Duncan-Fernandez is senior editor at Somos en escrito.
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The sounds of her unpacking

8/30/2021

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Photo by Scott Russell Duncan

Three Poems by Cesar Love

La Abeja
 
We know the buzz of her flying
but once she lands and stills her wings
she makes other sounds
the sounds of her unpacking
 
The pants of La Abeja have several pockets
She unpacks her pockets
at pachangas, parades
birthdays, weddings, cabalgatas
 
La Abeja makes her delivery
Her delivery of cultura:
New dances, first recipes, original games
Fresh jokes, bold accents, cool spellings
 
La Abeja arrives early and leaves late
She tastes every dish, she dances every song
 
Before she leaves the party
La Abeja refills her pockets
She stuffs them with cultura, poesía, canción
 
La Abeja flies south to the zocalos
North to the gazebos
East to the pagodas
West to the rodeos
 
To attract her, water your flowers
Water you poesía, water your canción.
La Cena
 
With every mouthful of your cod
My arms become fins
I am a fish cruising through oceans
Oceans so open
I swim as far as the moon
 
With every spoonful of your mango salsa
I grow body hair
I am a chango swinging across treetops`
Trees so high in the dusk
I dribble the setting sun
 
No dessert please
I too am cooked
I am a thin stalk of asparagus
Sizzling in a pan
Ecstatic in your oil
Vowels
 
I sing a vowel to the sky
A vowel of the land
My bare feet touch the earth
This jewel that holds me
That lets me stand
That lets me walk
I sing this vowel to the sky
 
I sing a vowel to mi gente
The vowel of mi familia
I learn this vowel from my bloodline
The comida shared
The luchas won
I sing this vowel to mi gente
 
I sing a vowel to my love
The vowel of ancient forests
A vowel as old as redwoods
As young as blossoms
This vowel bloomed when I met you
I sing this vowel to my love
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​César Love is a Latinx poet living in San Francisco, California. He is the author of two books of poetry, While Bees Sleep and Birthright, and he is a co-editor of the Haight Ashbury Literary Journal. He recently published Baseball: An Astrological Sightline, an examination of astrology and baseball. His website is www.baseballastrology.com.

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