• We were so poor
    when we were growing up
    Christmas meant

    a pair of socks for me,
    and that was it.
    My uncle Frank

    and Aunt Luisa
    gave me those socks
    once a year

    whether
    I needed them
    or not.

    These were not the socks
    from Neruda’s
    Ode To A Sock,

    these were not
    Kafka’s
    insect socks,

    these were not
    sock drawers
    in a Borges mirror,

    these were plain and simple
    brown, chicano
    socks.

    Now all
    I needed
    was zapatos.