My Wicked Wicked Ways by Sandra Cisneros

My Wicked Wicked Ways by Sandra Cisneros

This is my father.

See? He is young.

He looks like Errol Flynn.

He is wearing a hat

that tips over one eye,

a suit that fits him good,

and baggy pants.

He is also wearing

those awful shoes,

the two-toned ones

my mother hates.

Here is my mother.

She is not crying.

She cannot look into the lens

because the sun is bright.

The woman,

the one my father knows,

is not here.

She does not come till later.

My mother will get very mad.

Her face will turn red

and she will throw one shoe.

My father will say nothing.

After a while everyone

will forget it.

Years and years will pass.

My mother will stop mentioning it.

This is me she is carrying.

I am a baby.

She does not know

I will turn out bad.

Although I can't really follow this poem, the writing style is very interesting. The short lines and phrases made up of poor grammar are different from a lot of the less modern poetry I blogged about.