By Fernando Esteban Flores

The soul of a nation split in unequal shares

& the years have seen the gaps grow wider

The indigenous the immigrant & the interloper

Orbit the outskirts for survival

The last piece of American pie divvied up

The dead dawn on the final frontier

Zombies sucking up the last scraps

Vampirism bleeds the veins

Of the continent to desolation

The Furies unleash their rage

The Four Horsemen gallop across the page

With impunity

An Age unlike any other

Democracy’s shakedown takedown

In the year of the trump

The loss of the last vestiges of innocence

The beginning of expedience

In the quicksand of mayhem

The people’s common courage

Carries the day

Noemi who works the take out window

At Rosa’s Café still believes

This is a good place

Juan who mans the register at

The corner convenience store

Works two jobs says with gutsy smile

No hay más / there’s nothing more

The Mexican workers who resurface the city streets & highways

Arms & hands browned & bronzed

By the sizzling August heat

The battles they fight day after day

To make ends meet

Who knows or cares about the pain

Each bears with every clod & clunk of concrete

They break

Nameless others who don’t complain

Stomach the wrath & rain

Of chaotic political change

Put on a brave face to face

The unmitigated hate

The 21st Century

The rave

Of better days