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I see them
Puerto Ricans/Spanish niggers
Bronzed farmers look silly being doormen
Their fingers are more honest than their eyes.
Earth hands turned metallic gray
The plow rots, the mule dies, the hands rust
And the elders sit with ashes on their crowns making fools of themselves in bars.
Those fingertips will never touch then soil again.
Those fingertips will never feel the fuzz of small stones smoothed for centuries by the river.
Drunkenly wrapped around a beer can
Hatefully curled through a belt
Desperately clutching a needle
Lost their land/Losing their minds