Lost & Found

The small box,

like the ones that hold

an engagement ring,

was sitting on

the island counter

at the bank.

You know the kind.

With brochures promoting

home equity loans.

Deposit slips.

A dried out ballpoint pen

attached to a chain.

Someone must have

forgotten this, I thought.

I'll just take a peek

and see what it is

before I give it to a teller.

Inside the box

was a single bullet

nestled on red velvet.

How curious!

This ugly thing

ensconced like a treasure.

What will happen if I

take this to a teller?

Will she think it's

some kind of threat?

Maybe it would be better

to just leave it here.

My fingerprints

are on the box......

I better wipe them off.

But the bank officer over there

is looking at me, did she

see me open up the box?

I'll just slip it in my pocket

nod and smile, walk out real casual.

Nothing to see here,

have a nice day.

It's bright outside

so I put on my Ray-bans

and wait at the curb

for a minivan loaded full

with a girl's soccer team

to pass by.

The bank officer rushes out

the door of the bank.

Sir? Did you forget something?

I think you left your wallet on the counter.

She flips it open, looks at my ID.

Mr Chambers? I think this is yours.

La India

Valentina's face could be 

a tracing from a Mayan fresco.

She walks up Jackson

under the granite lion heads

snarling down from the lintels

of old U.S. Customs House

A potted spider plant

balanced in her left hand

and a long white-filtered

cigarette poking out between

the strong fingers of her right.

She crosses to the sidewalk

on the far side of the street

from the stone and concrete cube

where the Immigration & Customs

Enforcement  agency now dwells.

The gray-uniformed

Homeland Security crew

gathered outside the entrance

nosh ham and cheese croissants,

blow steam off their morning cups

of the featured daily brew.

Today's special roast is from

the volcanic soils of Salvador.

where she was born

thirty eight years before.

Why do they all shave their heads

and have faces that look like boiled meat?

and eyes as cruel as the American national bird?

Soon the olive branch in his talons will be replaced

by a second clutch of arrows.

They watch her like the army squad

who raped her and killed her brother did,

and planted a child in her belly,

whom she'd carried on her back

through the Arizona desert.

Now she carries a spider plant

rescued from the law offices

she has spent the night cleaning.

Home to a sunny window sill

in her Mission District flat

where she will try to bring it

back to health.

hangover cures

I should have run into Safeway

when I had the chance

to grab a fifth of Kentucky's

finest 90 proof.

Because when I got home

from the voting booth

I discovered a mere

three ounces in the bottle

and I sure would have liked

a few ounces more.

It would be worth the headache

and the nausea in the morning

would probably pass by noon,

instead of who knows when.

hey red states, red counties,

red-eyed true believers,

how about you pay your own damn bills

and mow your own damn lawns

and flip your own damn burgers

and mop your own damn floors.

and be sure to hustle

down to the payday loan store

on your way to score

some meth or oxy,

but please save enough

to feed your new grandchildren

when your daughter

moves back into her old bedroom

because her boyfriend isn't willing

to take a job gutting chickens

down at the processing plant

for minimum wage so he

sure as shit ain't gonna be making

any child support payments.

-he's holding out for those

auto assembly lines

to come back to doritoville.

good luck with your cancer

and your asthma

when all those coal mines

start roaring back up in the holler

and piss in your black rivers.

maybe you can get by

with some cheap florida

health care insurance.

I wish I'd had some bourbon

to pour over the rocks

but perhaps it's just as well

I didn't because this hangover

looks like it's going to last

for quite a spell.

magic

the rabbit, of course

is always hidden

in the hat.

and the chosen card

is concealed

up the sleeve.

and yet we're

always pleased

when the man in the tux

skillfully deceives

and restores his

beautiful assistant

to her undivided whole.

because after all,

we put a lot of trust in mirrors.

whatever world you now inhabit,

mr houdini, i don't really care,

but please,

do one more performance.

repeat your most astonishing trick,

and make the elephant disappear.