Between

John Chavez

The way their eyes look at
me,

uncertain of who I really am,

unsure if they can trust me
as if we are different people -
as if I'm the enemy

if there is one

that we can blame for our problems-
And I'm it:

"el vendido", "milkweedhalfbreed"

or just the one who
has no clue what IT is all about

Educated ones advise me to use
maybe my lack of color

so that I can help those

the race they mean,
La Raza they say, and shake hands that
way

they do down in Bessemer

trying to keep it real - whatever that is,
skin to skin - pulling their fists tightly
to their chests and cocking their heads
a little to the right

"I want to use my brains and my
pride…" I tell them, but they
look at me as if I don't
know what pride is -
I don't know what respect for the
People is

because I've lived the "other" life

the one that steals your accent -
the dye that gives you the right
to call your self

Chicano

Or turns your brown eyes blue

And it's my brown eyes and last
name that gives me away -
They politely ask,
"Oh, I didn't know that you were
Mexican, are you?"

Saying yes tells them

that they should be afraid of me after
all these years

Or gives them a right to

hate me because of my skin color,
But they forget I'm as pale as they are -

Saying no gives them a right to tell
Mexican jokes around me,

looking at me for their cue

to laugh at the poor white colored guy
who gets angered in Brown ways
The one who doesn't know

what IT is to keep it real -

It gives them the right to tell me
how worthless "Those" people
are

without referring to me

The one who is caught in between
people and their hang ups on color.
©CopyrightJohn Chavez