10 less injured

t-cells down to 90 ... then 40
and soon there will be none
but there will still be 10 less injured to carry on
no, you were never the drug lord you thought you were
yes, you sold la cura to folks on the streets
so you could feed your mother and father at home
while your sons and daughters
spent years by the telephone
waiting for words of wisdom
from their beloved papi
but they/we shall cast no stones at you today
for unlike those who know better
you do not deserve them
you never did
you who shall soon die
unable to read or write
yet managed to educate me
on the harsh reality
of rotted, insect, rodent-infested mozzarella cheese
and moldy bread sold out of filthy south bronx pizza factories
to schools and supermarkets throughout our various ‘hoods
you who taught me a literal swan song
about the evils of that sweet brown elixir/killer
imposed upon this
our splintered Boriken landscape
miles and cultures away from bayamon
you were just another a little injured one
when you were swept up in the
mandatory subculture novela of new york city streets
for (like millions of other likewise injured souls)
no one would have you
some, however, soon learned to fear your very name
but those/we who once called you warrior
later shed a tear and turned away
when you flooded your veins
with that sweet brown elixir/killer once too often
la heroina was the only thing
that could make you laugh
make you sing
make you dance
and allow you to talk in the spirit of kings
some called it lunacy
but I now know better
and though you often invoked such hatred
you also loved so deeply
and that passion
will soon take you to an even higher ground
I remember the last time I saw you
when your eyes blazed with murder at me
me who had loved and cared for you so
until I could no longer take the pain
of bright spirit rendered rotting corpse
yet I hate you not
because you managed to give life to 10
maybe more less injured ones
your sons and daughters
(and your nieces and nephews)
whom stand tall and proud and untainted
by that sweet brown elixir/killer
and they/we shall never cast a stone
at those who are not at fault
but, rather, properly direct them
at that white-columned vault
where the truly evil ones lie
where genuine drug lords reside
(amidst micky-d styrofoam plates
leftover arkansas condoms
and still burning roaches)
t-cells down to 90 ... then 40
and soon there will be none
but there will still be 10 less injured to carry on
may you rest in peace, my brother
and may we piece together the rest

© 1995 by Marina Ortiz

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