Sergeant Ernesto Gallegos Abolishes Higher Rank Poem by Mike Finley

The walls I made them run toward
Were the ones they themselves built
To keep me out and my mixed kind.
I swear I could watch these
Lieutenants and colonels drill
Like footsoldiers forever -
But lacking time and owing to their numbers,
dispatch must be efficient.

Those who maintained the ancient order
must benefit first from the new.
The new justice is, they run, I
Shoot them dead, them barefoot through
The cactus spines, me resplendant
In my brocade sedan-chair!

The only peace I will know tonight
Is the balm of the butter
From the old masters' icebox
On my tragically blistered
Trigger finger.



(1976)