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You are referred to as the unknown man.
Your pockets are empty
of coins or identification.
You are a man without a country.
You are free as a bird,
a loner without a name.
But you are kind, your smile
shines on those who
come into contact with you,
even those whom if they had their wish
would string you up to a tree
or send you across the border
without hesitation. You have no hate.
The pain in your body,
you keep to yourself.
You have been out in the elements,
sunburnt, feet bleeding.
What if you were the son of man?
Who would wash your feet in this place?
They want an insurance card.
The hospital won't admit you.
As death
would have me,
I would have
none of that.
I kept
my distance
from the hot
volcano.
I would
not be a
sacrifice
to the gods.
I chose
life, even
in this strange
dream, and fled
for my
life, past the
gallows and
into a
hidden
cave, where I
would paint my
history.
Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal was born in Cuernavaca, Morelos (Mexico), and has lived in Los Angeles County since age 7. He works in the mental health field. His poems in English and Spanish have appeared in The American Dissident, The Blue Collar Review, Pemmican Press, and Struggle Magazine. His first book of poems, Raw Materials, is from Pygmy Forest Press. His 40th birthday is June 8th.