what does a little Mexican boy
know about the blues? when would he
sell his soul for a plate of tamales
on the road to Ann Arbor
to become the king? and since
he left his baby and she
be not dead, how can he slide
up the strings with on old olive jar?
can her really go from flamanco
to open-G? can the boy who never
set foot in Georgia or Mississippi really know
what twang is? boy, you ain't never
got no letter! you ain't never laid no hand
on your woman! you never seen no devil
or Lord Jesus on the Delta!
what you know about the blues?
what i know about the blues
comes from Buddha on the Huron—
i met the Devil in my childhood bedroom and my woman
laid her tongue on me. the telephone rang
and her voice cut me down. my twang comes
from Texas, where i've never set foot
but my mother has set heart. my strings are metal
and never in any tuning.
my slide is made from a rolling pin
for a tortilla. my girl is not dead
but wouldn't that be lovely for the blues?
i'm no king but that's why i wail
on the drive to Ann Arbor—plus
i miss my mama's tamales
on my belly. this Mexican boy knows
something about the blues.