Joseph Rios

Ephraim Goes With Me to the Dump

Gallo Wine was the only one to survive on Clovis.
They take loads of all-green for twenty bucks
and turn it into fertilizer that feeds cheap wine.
I’m doing my part. We got layers of leaves in
different stages of rot. The stiff metal rakes are
our best friends as the fellas in hard hats tell us
to hurry up with bleating horns. I’m coughing
on the fermenting slop as one layer slides smooth
off like a waffle lubed with butter. It’s like butter,
E says, and he’s right on time. It’s all coming out
pretty good now and Ephraim is smiling while
wearing the gloves I let him borrow. I’ve been here
too many times for it to feel special. But the words
come out anyway. I climb in and kick the pile forward
with my creased and cracked boots, then broom
the small bits away. I’ve said nothing about sound.
The earth movers have a way of being so loud
your eyesight gets better. The way I’m noticing
my friend now climbing into the truck and
pulling off those gloves, I can see him so clearly.
I’m doing all that I can to hold onto the image
of his arm out the window, conducting each
sentence from his mouth like a symphony.  

Joseph Rios

Field Guide: Calwa #2

The steel wheeled train cars sing like a crystal flute 
of champagne accompanied by the bass held hostage
in the trunk of this murdered out Buick.

The kids’ jungle gym is a broke down Altima
that became a memorial to the neighbor’s grandpa 
who got shot while changing the timing belt. 

How will posterity explain the endless tumbleweeds 
               of empty Hot Cheeto Bags? 

I took out a chunk of the driveway with a sledgehammer
and thought of my dad’s father, drunk, tripping
off these steps and smashing his head in the same spot.

Do the hummingbirds ever see me and think I’m the spirit
                       of someone’s dead tia? 

Joseph Rios

Somebody’s Little Brother’s Birthday

For Sara Borjas

There’s a Chicanx child of Rocio Durcal
crooning under the light of a PD helicopter 
and they’ve got the whole hood singing and weeping 
to the song. Meanwhile, my tio is already drunk 
and telling my cousins how much he loves them and 
they’re all hugging and crying like it’s the first 
and last time anyone had a birthday and pitches in
on a bounce house that is also a water slide 
and my cousin’s ex boyfriend from down the street
who still gets invited to family kickbacks is texting 
her how much this song reminds him of her and maybe
they could give it another shot cuz it kinda seems like 
they were meant to be together and he don’t know 
she’s been steady seeing her best friend who is 
the homegirl tearing it up right now, hella singing,
the kinda singing that has my widowed tia 
hollering like she’s tryna come out of retirement
to snatch up a young buck and claim ’em on her taxes.
And there’s Grandpa is in his wheelchair on the back lawn 
with a blanket over his lap carrying a dirty paper plate 
with a plastic fork and a crushed napkin talkenbout, 
he’s so happy when all his family gets together.