‘Churros y Lucha Libre, Pan Dulce y Juegos’ & ‘Un Deseo’
Serge Lecomte was born in Belgium in 1946. He came to the States where he spent his teens in South Philly and then Brooklyn. After graduating from Tilden H. S. he joined the Medical Corps in the Air Force. He earned an MA and Ph.D. from Vanderbilt University in Russian Literature with a minor in French Literature. He worked as a Green Beret language instructor at Fort Bragg, NC from 1975-78. In 1988 he received a B.A. from the University of Alaska Fairbanks in Spanish Literature. He worked as a language teacher at the University of Alaska (1978-1997).
Churros y Lucha Libre, Pan Dulce y Juegos
after “panem et circenses”
Poetry’s pageantry
is the underwhelming truth
of our true nature.
Our nature to nurture community’s compassion
through the compression of our wordsmiths.
Our playwrights
search for meaning between
synonyms adrift in naked storms.
Our journalists gather around similes of colonization
confuse the muse for the sake of impartiality,
Our novelists placate imagery of atom bombs
with sake bombs and truckloads of propaganda
programs’ explosive fulfillment of corrosive subatomic metaphors.
Have you found balance with interest?
Have you calculated the precise percentage
of the fiscal deficit in your heart’s budget?
If not, we can sit tight as
minds extend olive branches.
We can let the branches break
and let the leaves cascade
We can acknowledge existence of our somber songwriters
that prickle their sickle cells and let the rhythm of their choruses
tickle our cerebellums and cerebrums.
Marching drums, march on,
seasons evolve our ecosystem.
Lives revolve around the bomber’s flight
and the peasants’ fight for freedom.
With each snap, crack and every boom,
Destiny crushes not only the sticks, but every mother’s back,
and the babies watching their sisters die.
Un Deseo
In the 5th grade, all I wanted was to be strong.
I saw the homie Tutti’s nephew tote the big one four, so I asked my family about it.
That’s when my dad showed me his back, marked with a large 14,
a number symbolizing power to northern gangsters.
I wanted to embody that power to grasp peace and prosperity.
But our bodies aren't meant to bear burdens or serve as outlets for our desires.
Yet here I am, with my mother's eyes, my father's face, his superstitions, her indecision,
and both of their attitudes. I carry the weight of my sisters' expectations,
hoping they see that our mistakes don't define us.
Because the greatest common factor is love: love for ourselves,
our family, our friends, and our neighbors, because our haters
are the least common denominator of earthly woes.
Striving for power and money often leads to
self-gratification and a lack of self-regulation in love and hate,
while we struggle to survive on a deteriorating planet.
Fate dictates that trying to get by results in tears and sleepless nights. So here I am, inheriting my father’s tendency to run from challenges,
never facing the consequences, and my mother’s drive to
chase material success over happiness, letting fatigue control my anger.
I have his asthma, her migraines, and his 14 etched into my soul, as a reminder
you don't need to act hard to be strong, and her orange jumpsuit,
a reminder you don't have to be a gangster to go to prison.
Yet, etched on my heart are the desires to do all that I can.
Alexander Antonio Cortez is a Chicano poet, mosh pit enthusiast, and tamale lover from Sacramento, California. He is a member of GTFO Poetry and host of the Profiles in Poetry Podcast. His work has appeared in Fleas On The Dog Magazine, and Tule Review. @corteiscortez2.0 on Instagram and gtfopoetry.com
