Saturday, July 18, 2015

Those Good Tomatoes
 
          Chicago, South Side
 
Late July and I am waiting
for those good tomatoes
brought to the city from farms
on trucks with a swinging scale,
brought to the city
and into the alleys
by Greeks and sons
in late July
and early August,
tomatoes so red they reign
on the sills of my mind all winter
too perfect to eat.

 
Donal Mahoney


El Chapo Comes to San Francisco


Olé! Olé!
shouts El Chapo, 
prison escapee

on the lam from Mexico,
riding a burro
to San Francisco,

that sanctuary city
by the Bay, where 
the local gendarmes

are free to let him go
and drive a food truck
and sell tacos,

heroin and cocaine
until Congress decides
illegal immigrants are on 

a path to citizenship
which could happen 
unless The Donald,

our new John Wayne, 
locks up El Chapo and  
shouts Olé! Olé!


Donal Mahoney


One of those Yanks

I’m white as a sheet
believe me
one of those Yanks
who never before 
the Charleston massacre
thought about 
the Confederate flag

I spent most of my life 
in Chicago, that city 
of big shoulders
and short tempers, where 
the Confederate flag was 
not often seen and whites
and blacks laughed
and fought in public. 

I live in St. Louis now 
not far from Ferguson
where whites and blacks 
are a pile of wood
on a back porch  
waiting for a match
and some oaf to strike it.


Donal Mahoney