Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal- 3 Poems

BRANCHLESS TREE

 

The branchless tree

saddens the birds
who remember

how they nested here
and stood on

the branches all the time.

There is no music,

no song from the

birds. They are

confused and perplexed.
The torn branches

have been swept away.

 

 

 

GARY

 

Gary tells me it is cold.

I believe him.

He walks the streets

of  Los Angeles,

sometimes looking

somewhat the worse

for wear.

I know it is cold.

I am wearing a sweater

and a jacket.

Gary just has a long

sleeve shirt on,

the same one he has

worn for days.

When I am getting

to work at 6am

Gary is already up.

When Gary tells me it is

cold, I know it is

not an understatement.

 

 

TIRED OF HER FACE

 

Tired of her face
I told her so
and she fled so
fast it caught me
off-guard so I
grabbed my things and
I left the place
not to come back

for two weeks to
cool off and get
my mind straight for

looking at her

face that could have
sunk thousands of
ships.  She was no
Helen who’s face

sailed a thousand
ships.  I grew so
tired of her face

that I could not

keep quiet so
I told her so.