Chopper! Chopper!(Poem)

 
A yellow stream of light entered the cracked cortinas waking Xochitl up 
Outside her window behind her bunk bed she could hear the Saturday 
  morning ritual 
"Pop, pop, pop" breaking open the silence like a hand slapping, punching 
  the air 
Bullets flying by to round red targets up on the hill in the cops' 
  firing practice range 
getting ready to shoot one of the prisoners from Biscaluz or Sybil Brand 
anyone who escaped the metal confines of civilized justice that peered 
  down on them 
 
Minutes fluttered by like a chuparosa as she watched Saturday morning 
  cartoons 
ate her huevo con chorizo breakfast laughing with mouthfuls at 
  Scooby-Doo 
then dressed her little self, soft like an empanada, in blue shorts, 
  t-shirt, and her favorite 
tennies bought at Zody's to go outside and play with anyone standing 
  on the calle 
 
First she sprinted through the yellow cocina jumped the little step 
  to the backdoor 
She stood at the back door for a moment breathed in dust through 
  the screen door 
then announced in chopped English, "Mama, we're going up to the 
  mountain?" 
like usual her Ama was lavando ropa sucia or cleaning something in 
  the cuartito 
and Socorro smiled at her daughter and scolded her, "No te ensucies, 
  Xochitl." 
"Yeah, mama." And little Xochitl ran after her eight-year-old amigos 
The same ones who all went to Hammel Street School with three tiers 
like an excavation plot she once saw at La Brea Tar Pits on a field 
  trip day 
 
All the curly head, straight-laced chamacos up on Sydney ran up the 
  calle 
Xochitl, Pelon, Pepe, Zombie, Ruben, and Richard scampered up the loma 
And they scattered to Blanchard Avenue then climbed the rickety steps 
Leftover remnants of a home that once nestled itself on the edge 
  of the hill 
 
Now only the fraying cement base existed as its marker in its memory 
They scurried up like mountain lion cubs heading back home to the cave 
Just like the one they could see from the bottom of the hollow riverbed 
And headed to the top of the montana to see lions, headed to Rabbitland 
  or Frog-land 
 
They jumped over the fence landed on the solid dirt dusted with 
  bottles, paper 
Trailed up the Montana in search of conejos and spying on prisoners 
  at the top 
Pelon led the way trekking over dry bush and mini-boulders they had to 
  climb 
And Xochitl carried the cola of the line of brown chamaquillos hiking up 
Off to the side the dry weed crackled, hollow branches like splintered 
  huesos cracked 
Someone hushed the group and waited in silence for another sign of 
  life nearby 
A loud crunch snapped open like a lion's roar and all of them froze 
  for one second 
Then a unison cry for help they all pointed to the noise and yelled 
  with all their fuerza 
"Chopper! Chopper! Run! The migra is after us. Run! Chopper! Chopper!" 
Inside she felt the air suck out of her like the blue fifties vaccum 
  her Ama still had 
Instincts grabbed her feet, her piernas and she ran like an immigrant 
  dodging the border 
patrol crossing over el Rio Bravo heading to El Paso, Las Cruces, 
  Phoenix, San Diego 
Little feet darted, scurried down the loma away from the big dog that 
  was chasing them 
The chavalos hit the ground like Go Speed Racer, Zombie was like a 
  Tahumara runner  ...