Running Into A Chicano Boston Poet

I was walking
in an
alley

two blocks
from
Boston Common

when I
stepped
on a rag

maybe used
by the
homeless

to wipe
the sweat
off their brow.

I kicked
the rag
out of the way.

It spoke
to me,
“Carnal, why

do you kick me.
I have done
nothing to you?”

Of course, I apologized,
“Sorry, carnal,
I didn’t know

you were a chicano rag.”
Chihuahua, Aztlan used to be
such a fine cloth.