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I do not know.
This will be my
answer to your
questions. I do
not know who I
am. I do not
know where I live.
I do not know.
Every pill you
give me I will
spit out. If you
inject me I
will claw at my
skin, find the vein,
and rip it out.
That much I know.
I was not doing
anything wrong.
I was just sitting
on the dock of
the bay trying to
get a suntan.
I put some peanut
butter on my
face. I had my shades
on. The police
came and brought me here.
One of them looked
like Jesus. He just
looked at me with
his dark eyes and long
hair. I made the
sign of the cross in
his presence and
he smiled. He then slapped
the cuffs on me.
In my view
the blue horizon
and one cloud.
Flying by
in the sky the
birds of autumn.
I took a
breath and coughed. I
felt a tingling
in my throat.
The beginning
of a cold.
A red tailed
bird flew in and
out of the
sun's view. I
blinked my eyes and
I went on
my way to
work. I did not
whistle though.
Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal, 41, was born in Cuernavaca, Morelos (Mexico), and has lived in Los Angeles County since age seven. He works in the mental health field. His poems in English and Spanish have appeared in The American Dissident, The Blue Collar Review, Pemmican Press, and Struggle Magazine. His first book of poems, Raw Materials, is from Pygmy Forest Press. He has a new chapbook coming out: Before & Well After Midnight from Deadbeat Press.