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my brother has a tattoo
of the New York Yankees
logo on the back of his
bald shaved head but
with the bottom part of
the 'Y' in 'N Y'
missing so that it
looks like a big 'V N'
instead for Van Nuys
the local gang.
but occasionally
he lets his hair grow out.
and my mom rejoices
when that happens:
lighting candles, hoping,
praying for permanent long
covering hair, and that
he can successfully get
off of probation without
another violation, without
La City Mayor Villaraigosa
and Police Chief Bratton
promising to crack down
on gangs – meaning that
gang members, active or not
be harassed, cited, detained
arrested, sent back to an
anti-rehabilitative
over-crowded, intentionally
racist, perfectly-constructed
high-profit, privately-owned
prison.
but today he shaved his
head bald again and tomorrow
he might go back to jail.
and more candle wicks will
inevitably be ignited and
more prayers will
inevitably be said; more
pleads of change, more
bargaining with saints
and virgins; everything
going nowhere, everything,
every word reaching nothing —
not a son's ear, not the
heart of society.
when my cat climbed up
my wall and tore the
rejection slip from
Swink Magazine,
i was upset.
i had designated a place
on my wall for all
the print magazine
rejection slips
and Swink was my first one.
i would take down the slip,
stare at my cat and say:
no, lenina, bad cat
and i would tack the slip
up higher on the wall,
but she always found a way
of reaching it and
tearing it to shreds
until it wasn’t legible,
until the entire Swink
name was completely gone
and all that remained
were the words:
"We wish you the best of luck placing
your manuscript elsewhere. The editors."
eventually i gave up
and threw the thing away,
bowing down in defeat
to my cat's unfaltering
determination -
finally understanding
what it was trying to
convey in the act:
there is no such thing as
failure, only unlearned
lessons and a lack of
resolution;
that, or Swink and other
academically heavy magazines
like that, right now,
are beyond my literary reach.
Luis Rivas lives in the San Fernando Valley, California. He was a telemarketer, construction worker, assistant drug dealer, flower delivery driver, fast food cashier, sales clerk, package handler/zip code sorter. His work has appeared in the following publications, some of which he contributes to regularly: Zygote in My Coffee, The Hold, My Favorite Bullet, Cherry Bleeds, and Sex and Guts Magazine (R.I.P.).
He dropped out of Los Angeles Valley College where he was studying journalism to work full-time at a porn shop, where he still is.
He is currently working on growing a beard.