Reflections Upon a Visit to El Paso

I first learned I was a spic
when I was just a little over ten;
bruised knees that hadn't long healed
and scars that hadn't opened yet.

I learned it from a man named Pete,
who thought he'd teach me that back then.
I recall he was red all over;
Red face, red neck, red shirt,
Red blood, red hands,
Red tongue and red vote
With red eyes that burned like red flames
He wouldn't have dared to stop.

Under the heat of the El Paso desert
I thought that maybe there I'd meet my fate.
My family; my mother,
My abuela and tía Consuelo
(and little cousin Consuelo)
There at the ground we could call ours
Surrounded by those to remind us
That it was not, in fact, ours;

It was theirs, everything is theirs:
The sun, the dirt,
The weather they were not built for.
Our northern border and our dead bodies,
Our footprints and our dignity.
Our food, our songs,
Cactus poncho mustache,
And many mispronounced words.

I was a beaner spic wetback
An invader in a place that's not my own
Arrested for trespassing
and I'm sorry, I'm sorry

I'm sorry for the way it sounds
When I roll my r's by accident,
I'm still learning this, you know?
My mom always says she's proud.
Why doesn't it sound the same
When you and I both say
Los Angeles
El Paso
Amarillo
Taco, Puerto Rico?

I'm sorry for how it sounds
when my vowels are too open,
Because that seems to upset you.
I'm sorry you talked to tía Consuelo
And it took me a moment to interpret that
Back and forth for you.
I'm sorry I made you roll your eyes
When I didn't know what you meant
And asked if you could say it again.

Is it "does it do" or "does it does"?
Sorry, grammar is a bit hard for me,
I keep forgetting the rules now and then.
I'm so sorry, I really am,
Did I mention that I'm 10?

Would you still shoot me then?
That's a rifle you have there.
I'm sorry I stared, perdón,
We don't see those from up close back at home.

Why did this man I don't know
Yelled at us after we passed the border control?
He's sending us back home, I think,
To go back where we came from.
Spics wetbacks beaners
And he kept his finger on the trigger.

I'm sorry I laughed when you ordered "guac",
It was payback for when I heard you
Laughing behind my back.
I'm sorry I mixed up some words,
I'm trying, you know?
I'm sorry that two girls of 10 and 3
Made you feel inadequate,

Would you shoot us then?
Would you be pleased?
Would it make up for the time
When we messed up and said "thank you" instead of "please"?

Would you hate us any less?

Would you be made aware
That for us Death is everywhere?
Coincidentally, it just so happens
That it might now know how to spell my name.