When I wrote this poem, I thought it would be one of those pieces that never gets published. Much too quirky, I thought.
So I was amazed when The East Bay Review accepted it for its summer issue. Thanks, guys!
For Dr. S. Rueda
On the night Chavez died
I needed to feel drunk
So I called my son’s pediatrician
Told him I wanted to be happy
He said I should be happy
I didn’t mention the wine
Maybe he figured and it wasn’t the first time
First I mixed white formula with water
Then drank enough to sway
With the people on TV
Even a teat gets tired
Of being just a teat