The scents of Chicana poverty linger

Even after decades of enough

Welfare office tears and grime

Still on the soles of old shoes

Air is thick with ethnic sweat and worry

Leave little ones or buy a fake you

Cajeta, popcorn and lemonade

Solely for barrio kids with 25 cents

Youthful want is still palpable

Little Chica world void of any cool respite

Rife in dust from dilapidated homes

And slick in crime-moistened streets

Invading my Gringa middle-class psyche

Cloaking my proud camouflaged Morenita skin

 

 

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