JULIO CÉSAR MONDRAGÓN—Dylan Brennan

a white ball of corn
bobbing to pozole surface

an accordion player dribbling drunk
on a street in Chilpancingo—green twinkles
of damiana-infused mezcal

seventeen years from now
electric pink quinceañera dresses
scrunching in a mist of sweet perfume

sky-explosions of Christmas Eve firecrackers
like new year bullets banging dryly in the air

a fearless boy contorting from La Quebrada
before smashing into seawater

*

scooped or gouged from their sockets
they took his eyes away

and all the things he’d seen
the things he might have seen

and then they cut off his ears
and then they cut off his face


Originally published in Abridged 0—39: The Never Never

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