I have eighteen children.
I had multiple pregnancies.
The oldest of my children
are fifteen and fourteen.
Six are triplets
and twelve are twins.
I think I’m pregnant now
or I could have an STD for
screwing around so much.
I need to get in touch
with the Community
Health Service Department.
I think I have a bullet
in my gut that needs to
be taken out. When I have
my babies, the doctor
could dig around for
the bullet, which had my
name on it, but not my number.
When mars is attacked
and earth is the next target,
who will save us,
who will we follow?
Does it matter?
No one will save us.
It’s best to self-destruct.
Our weaknesses
will be exploited
by the aliens when they
take over. I have
cyanide in my pockets.
A hundred dollars per
pill, but the water is
going to cost you.
You wake up at dawn
beside my pillow.
I wake from dreaming.
Your fragrance is gone.
I change the bed sheets.
The sunshine enters
through my window. I
stand alone with thoughts
of you. Stuck in the
past and lost in the
present, the future
a loveless wasteland.
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.