Youth

broker

/ mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments

the jasmine breeze floats

                 through your presence

i see your eyes looking at me

               with uncertainty the electricity is dry

                              the crispness of your laugh pulsates at 3 seconds per beat

                                        both of our demons stay in their corners where the beauty has her throne

  our every move from the lightest wink

            to the full blown hand holding  

in the far away universe of the ozone   gray smoke

              bitter smell of another neuron dead

                       we did not love one another

i loved your image

                   and thinking on it now

             you were a lost boy with a pretty smile and power

     i knew the how-to’s of the score to the billboard of the hottest games

                in town          you could only get the tickets

we slept in the bushes of the mansions on the hills

           it would be a shame for your grandma to see

me there         as time went by and i dropped

           out of that game     you didn’t look

for                     me  but found another broker

cigana

/ mbrazfieldm / 5 Comments

for much of my youth i went from one corner of Hollywood to another the moon a constant companion except when she had to escort the beautiful ones in being a juvenile vagabond laid a certain freedom but too much of it lead to complicated cages at 17 with about two packs of everything bad on a daily i flourished in education book and otherwise yet i couldn’t remember much of my childhood it might have been a good thing nevertheless i loved my freedom to drink or stare at antiquities at the museum for hours and hours or maybe sleep in the library and eat onion rings at Astro’s the beach was nice at 1 p.m. on Tuesdays i really loved the hand of the wind on my shoulder and the seagulls chasing me as i threw crumbs of French baguette at them oh how i smiled and laughed

Chato

/ mbrazfieldm / 2 Comments

Chato wasn’t sure what to expect. He’d heard the legends almost every weekend. His fists curled into themselves, not quite tight, not ripe to make a punch. Through the sheet that separated him from the rest of the living room guests, he heard the women speaking. Some weeping, some whispering like the noise of ninja stars in mid air. Chato thought about Ernesto and his eyes watered a little. Glancing down to find a tee shirt to wipe his face, Ernesto’s acceptance letter to UCLA reproached him. Chato comforted his pain by scrolling through his phone to call Chino and the crew. No answer. Chato looked up the wall and smiled at Ernesto’s awards. The rage flooded him. In between blurred thoughts, he could not understand how he and Ernesto had survived so much and suddenly cancer took down the person who meant the world to him.