We walked five miles to the nearest waterhole.
A baldin’ boogeyman convoy
left her unconscious by the roadside.
We ran—three little birds (cryin’ and cryin’).
My brother stayed in my head—boogeyman’s body
sucking his breath (yellin’ and yellin’) yeah
(yellin’ and yellin). He’ll live, or I’ll shoot him myself.
Death (wow - wow - wow) sprawled like a lizard.
Papa (whoo - whoo - whoo) tore off
his ankle bracelet and went for the gun.
© Sergio A. Ortiz Published in the 2010 February Issue of The Houston Literary Review