Batman Chicano

Señor Batman,

Oiga. Get out of Gotham City, and please move to theSouthwest, cuz we don't have no superheroeshere.

We got gangas and migras creeping on every corner,crusading across las calles,carteles and coyotes tumble weeding through our lawns,on sacred patches of dirt, dust, and diminishing dreams.No tenemos a nadie to protect us on these secret-sanctuaryislands,these caminos oscuros where ICE doesn't melt.

I see something in the sky, the bat symbol, una señal,and it saysI'm going to be el Batman Chicano.

And I need you,Hombre Murciélago,to teach me how to be a tex-mex superheroand to wear high-heeled, hob-nailed, steel-toe-tipped bootswith spurs on the backs like silver spinstars for my snake-skin zapatos,and a mustache muy macho like Zapata's,and how to sweep the city streets swiftly like Zorroand save civilians, so I can be the superhero to my city—with a cape blacker than the great-tailed grackle's colita,and a crest more yellow than that same bird's bleak, blisteringeyes,

A cantar "Cu cu ru cu cú, compadre"To howl "Cuidado, cabrones, estas son mis calles"To whisper "Cuenta conmigo, caminante. Aquí estoy."