Step on a Crack

Didn’t anyone ever tell you, puta
nothing in life is free?
Javier whispers hard in my ear
and I know I will pay many times tonight
because Viernes is payday for the men. For me.

You must take steps, chica, proper steps
on your climb to prosperity. Fake it!
Carolina counsels, you are an Actriz now. Makeup
is serious business. Her accent
coastal- fast as gunfire.

English! Slap. Speak English! Slam.
Javier teaches me words copied
like a child: Wanna date big guy?
Sweet virgin, sweet girl. Spanish stays tucked
silent under my tongue. American men want American words.

The sistema por cuotas
keeps me on my back
twenty five times each day
but Sunday. God sees us,
girls whisper. God is busy.

Behind locked doors, in cells
we sleep, head to foot, hand in hand.
Sometimes a lullaby
Sometimes a sharp intake of breath
Wakes me from dreams.

For I dream tonight, in Spanish. Dreams
of hope, of Mama waiting my return.
Tomorrow I will fake it: an actriz,
a super-model. Practice my runway
walk. Try not to step on a crack.

© Barbara Gabriel

Twelve arrested in US raid on Latino sex-trafficking ring 

Raised along Highway 61 in Minnesota, Barbara ran away to sea, living and working around the world. She curses like a sailor and loves a well-fitting pair of boots.

Why Can't a Killer be Loved?

Why can’t a killer be loved?
When an English prison holds him fast
and tight, by leg-irons and manacles and five paces each way.
Shut yer pie hole, Monster!
rings off stone walls as the night guard raps his baton on iron bars. Clang!

Alone, our killer leaves clues
to his desire: the bloke wants to chat.
Hardened hands throttled life from a lovely, now softly tap tap tap
on keyboard to woo his pen-pal: must love rock and roll and have a sense of humor.
Should a killer be kept from love?

© Barbara Gabriel

Prisoners taunting victims on Facebook

Raised along Highway 61 in Minnesota, Barbara ran away to sea, living and working around the world. She curses like a sailor and loves a well-fitting pair of boots.