Catfish McDaris

 

Dancing Rainbow Blues

I stare out the kitchen
window and see deep snow
piled white like flocks
of sheep fucking in mass

Through the prism that
is hanging there rainbows
dance and glisten

I remember nymphomaniacs,
insomniacs and drunks
in Denver in Larimer Square

I remember crows and snow
that I ate on a freight
train full of oranges
and grapefruit going
from California to
New Mexico

I see the bum that
helped me and my friends
get from Dallas to our
homes in Clovis

I remember the Howitzer
that I shot near Geronimo's
grave and the armadillos that
crawled from their holes to
see what all the noise
was about

Taking a toke off a joint
I think about the post
office and my shitty job
that pays well

I think of wars to come
and how young people
will die on both sides
of some fucked up
imaginary line

I think about how
I may be too old
to fight, but I
would die rather
than send my young
daughter

I pray for peace

I hope God is listening.

 

Getting Bugged In Guadalajara

The cockroach was frog size
sitting on the lip
of the toilet challenging
me for existence

I'd just welcomed the sun
on a blue yellow veranda
surrounded by tropical plants
drinking Mexican coffee

My cigar impaled and obscured
the magnificent morning sun

Then Kafka's nightmare shot me
the finger, the fucking insect
had to die, I tried to crush it
for a sewer burial, it clung
to the bowl, antenna wiggling
prehistoric eyes glaring

A gringo hangover tequila shit
did a number on the motherfucker
now it's probably metamorphosed
into a human writing about me.

 

No Money No Pussy Blues

A black dude with
a goatee, tan hat,
and Mexican sandals

Accompanied by a bleach
blonde with big tits,
a turquoise halter top,
feathers in her hair,
wearing alligator pumps
with matching purse

Were strolling down
the sidewalk trying
to flag down Johns

I was driving to work
when the whore waved
her hankie at me

I thought this bitch
is loco, ain't no way
I'm sticking my eight
inches in that diseased
piece of shit

The spade was jumping
up and down as i
flipped him the finger

He reached for his piece,
but I aimed my M-16
at him, that made him
almost climb a tree

I just kept on going
to my meaningless
job in a city where
people just don't
give a fuck.

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A Field of Dancing Horses
A Field of Dancing Horses

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     I have been writing for ten years. Published lately in Slipstream, Chiron Review, and LA-REVIEW, I have also been nominated for the Pushcart Prize 15 times, but never won. I am currently a postal worker in Milwaukee and a bricklayer. I am from New Mexico, but moved to Wisconsin 25 years ago. I read often and have won many slams. I read at Ginsberg’s farm in Cherry Valley three summers ago, with all the beatniks left alive. I am also contributing editor of LSR (formerly Latino Stuff Review) and I am also contributing editor of Shrimp! I am married to a Mexican lady and have a 14 year old daughter.

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