by Michael Mclaughlin Victorio Valdez, El Bandido, was a retired Mexican actor living in Tijuana. He had been in over forty Mexican and American films, always as the heavy. In his youth he was shot from horses, tumbled down flights of stairs, and had whiskey bottles shattered over his head….
by Gil Hoy I’m watching the snow fallthrough my kitchen window,pine trees are crusted with snow.White shadowed in black,a squally wind is filled with snow. The phone rings. My sister Sallyis calling. Mother passed awaythis morning. I’m sitting all alonein my apartment, unpacking boxes loaded with dishes to fill my cabinets. I’m told…
by Gil Hoy he was my father. I never knewhim very wellbecause he wasn’t aroundwhen I was born. You wouldn’t know He married my motherwhen she was just 16. That hetook my sister to the park Most Sunday morningsso my mothercould sleep in. You wouldn’t knowa lot about any of…
By Gil Hoy SometimesYou have to say Farewell to another To say helloTo yourself.
by Gil Hoy They all thought he was famous. But the truth was, he was not. Perhaps it was the long, gray mane that flowed from his head, coupled with his good looks and charm. Perhaps it was the way Gary Wellington could speak beautiful words. Or his intelligence. Perhaps…
by Gil Hoy I’ve no use forA stainless steelLightweight Corrosive resistantContraption That encumbersMy wristAnd can’t Tell me anythingUseful anyway. “There will be time,There will be time,To prepare a faceTo meet the facesThat you meet.” No, there’s no timeFor a chronometer With a full date display,Blue dial, rhodium-Plated hands And an…
By Gil Hoy I remember summer mornings before anyone else was awake Opening the silver side screen door dark grass, soft carpet under bare feet the already sultry sun and moist salty air Walking out onto a wooden dock with rusty nails, old varnish and a weathered bait bucket attached by a coiled brown rope that was fraying like a…
by Gil Hoy I walk behind you, Allen Ginsberg, under the bright neon lightsof your California supermarket. I worry you’ll turn, bite my neck And suck out my blood, while yawping hysterically. I am America’shomophobic store detective and you are under arrest. America apologizes for your headache self conscious. You, for…
by Gil Hoy Last night I dreamed the workers painting my house Brought all of their children to work in the morning With brushes and buckets of water, to wash and to clean To scrub the faces, like paintings on canvas, that had appeared overnight on the walls of my…
by Gil Hoy Are we a family of nations or are we not? How did this nation thing happen in the first place anyway where just about every man woman and child belongs to one like a fraternity or club Was it the different languages we spoke Or is that…
by Gil Hoy When you’re a bottle 29 years go by fast, Not necessarily so for a little girl. Through Hurricane Hugo The whipping winds The crashing rain The stones that missed You, you survived intact to tell the tale of an 8 year old girl who walked along the…