Corrido dreams

I can’t count the amount of times my father told me he loved me
I hear it every time someone says my name
it’s in every beer I drink
Like most Mexicans my father was a hardworking man
He exported his product, maximized distribution and dominated his local market
For that he got 15 years in federal pen
White gold only sells in pressed pill by lab coats
No room for paisas living out corrido dreams

The duality of trapping is lost in the crossfire
I need a gold chain and all it cost was collateral damage
The bricks of our foundation
dissolved in the rain
I’m drowning in the sand
The ki to getting out
Is somewhere at the bottom

When it came time to collect
He had to pay it forward
So here I am asking for rent money
Are there ballads about random crying
Do they sing to stop from trembling
Am I living the dream dad

Ramiro (he/him) is a Chicanx living in San Diego. His work is influenced by his own experiences in both the foster care and immigration systems. Follow him on: TWITTER & INSTAGRAM