The Raker

The Raker came and tossed my
carcass on the wagon
and rolled away
I stood next to you…still.

I heard you speak of power
structure in the East
And wanted only to touch
your face.

I asked if you were alive
And you replied that you
weren’t a sell-out,
Like McArthur you would return.

I was hungry beyond belief
And your fashionable Rebel
Rhetoric was your reply.

All the time we stood staring,
I was dying…
The Grim Reaper sharpened
his scythe,
You didn’t hear the noise and
spoke of being an Altar Boy.

I wanted to scream out for help,
But your ears had disappeared,
So the Grim Reaper succeeded.

The Raker came to take my
body away,
To toss it into the ditch
with all the other
victims of the Plague…

Gloria Guerrero

This poem is from the anthology El Quetzal Emplumece (published 1976) by the Mexican American Cultural Center, San Antonio