but a blogger recently referred to me as a "latent tortilla eater," and THEN offered to critique my poems to make them more ethnically appropriate. Lately, my shrink has been encouraging me to embrace my anger. I generally don't get angry, but ignorance raises my hackles. Identity politics and mindless ethnic/racial/social class essentialism pisses me the fuck off. Yes, I'm being sincere. I eat tortillas all the time. Beans too. You got a problem??
For the Tortilla School
Tonight I shall eat fake Mexican
food with my real brother, who is half-
Mexican—some would call him a fake
Mexican—at a fake Mexican restaurant
which is really a Salvadoran restaurant
that serves really hot salsa with their
fake Mexican delicacies and delicious
curtido with their (as far as I know) authentic
& excellent pupusas. I too was once
accused of being a fake Mexican,
(never authentic or excellent),
but I’ve only been to Mexico twice &
never lived in the barrio. (You asshole.)
I feel like the speaker in
Anselm Hollo’s poem “Godlike.”
I eat tortillas when I feel like it.
I never roll my Rs. I don’t cash in on
my skin. I’m white on the inside.
Like a fucking ice cream sandwich.