For Miguel

For Miguel
(1970 - 1990)

Miguel, you came across the border
looking for the American Dream,
and instead wound up, at age 15,
a beautiful boy toy, selling your body
on the streets of Chicago.

And by the time you were 20,
your dream had degenerated
into the nightmare of AIDS,
of pain, sickness, and death.

You asked me to take you and your mother
shopping for your coffin, and I did.
In the car, on the way back,
I understood your mother's spanish,
when she sighed, and said:
"Oh God! We are here only to suffer!"

After coffin shopping,
you pulled me aside,
and told me your greatest fear:
That they would say you were dead,
when you weren't quite yet,
and you would be buried alive.

Later, when you were almost blind,
and you hair was beginning to fall out,
I was there when the priest came to call.
He told you that your suffering was a good thing,
because it brought you closer to God.
You turned your head to the wall.
And I think we both were wondering:
Who really wants to be closer
to a God who can be so cruel?

~ 2003 ~