fatherless,
i am a fugitive from the bronx apartment,
where the bullet-riddled spanish,
who had been chased across the ocean by franco,
sat like an audience at the edge of the pots
old women hovered over, in their haste to feed
yours truly, the family's first american son.
the way i was treated,
i could've been taken for a borbon in exile,
or even a misplaced rockefeller.
but i was neither.
i was as common
as newspaper.
but before i fled the old,
smothering spanish flesh,
i walked down the same street,
where my mother had once stood,
hypnotized,
before the glare of a theater marquee;
dreaming of a prince sired by eisenhower,
who would whisk her away from all the ugliness
she felt america had set aside just for her.
i shared her dreams, until i almost forgot
what the old spaniards back in the apartment
looked like.
growing restless with time,
i moved on as if pushed by an impatient hand.
following the ways of the world
i had learned from john ford,
i sought the irish.
stopping at the first bar
i came to, i stood in awe
before the green-tinted
plate glass windows.
i peered inside
because i had been taught
that all of america's heroes
were irish,
and i wanted
a share of that courage.
i needed it to be a real american.
so i took a deep breath
and ventured in.
behind the bartender,
hung a photo
of the boston strong boy,
the great john l. sullivan.
taking my cue from the fates,
i roared
in my best imitation of ward bond:
"i'll take on any man in the house!"
dozens of angry red faces glared at me,
while dozens of others gave me their backs.
within seconds, i was grabbed
and booted out to the sidewalk.
broken-hearted, my blood pushed,
pulled me towards the streets
where the spanish
of my mother's people was spoken.
i soon found myself in a bar deserted
by the irish over a generation ago.
there, bitter communists
plotted against the empire
by cursing eisenhower and
muñoz marin all in one breath.
i bolted out the door quickly
because i wanted to be
a patriot of this nation
and a good patriot
never consorts with the enemy.
so i kept walking,
but all i ever saw
was the ugliness,
that had kept my mother
on the balcony of the rko,
where maureen o'hara had failed
to bury her accent.
that's when i decided
i needed to leave
roberto rios behind me.
i was going to succeed
where my mother had failed.
so i became robert rivers.
a.k.a. bobby boy.
finally, i felt i was
really on my way
to becoming the jewel
of america's eye!
a first citizen of the empire!
but i soon discovered
that it wasn't that easy,
'cause that damn spic, roberto rios,
kept coming back
every time i opened my mouth.
i grew desperate!
that's when i deserted family and friends,
and began to run, searching for places
where he would not be recognized,
where i could reinvent myself
a day at a time
without him or those who knew him
laying waste to what i thought
back then was my birthright,
my destiny.
years of wandering followed,
during which i worked on my accent.
at first, i couldn't fool anyone;
but i got better with time.
i worked hard,
going at it with hammer and chisel
`til i got the spic out completely.
finally, i was left with an accent
jose ferrer would've envied.
i was at the top
of my game
when robert rivers,
a.k.a. bobby boy,
patriot
and right-wing soldier of fortune,
arrived in miami
the cubans showered me with abrazos.
perhaps they thought i was with the c.i.a.,
and that i had millions for their cause.
perhaps the little bit of victor mclaglen i
had thrown into my accent made the difference.
i don't know
and i didn't care
because they loved bobby boy like a compadre
and brother.
i was their born-in-the-usa sahib!
their tough two-fisted bronx bwana!
who walked the walk and talked the talk,
when it came to fighting el comunismo.
things could not have been better.
imagine my joy!
bobby boy reigned!
and roberto rios
was nowhere in sight!
i loved my new life and freedom.
but a good thing never lasts
.
soon i began to have nightmares.
they were fueled by secret fears
that i would slip up
and be unmasked,
and exposed as an imposter.
i realized that my new
name and accent were not enough.
i needed more validation!
i needed credentials!
so i took to the road again,
heading straight for the imperial seat,
because i had to prove
once and for all that bobby boy
really reigned.
arriving in washington, d.c.,
i put myself at the disposal of the empire,
and was quickly packed off to spain;
because there was no fooling these people.
they knew exactly where my mother had been born.
shouting, "remember the maine!"
i crossed the trembling ocean,
armed with the knowledge
of a thousand treaties,
and international intrigues.
head-over-heels,
drunk with power,
i was at the spear-head
of our imperial mandate.
boy o' boy, was I ecstatic!
soon, i walked through the corridors of power
another arrogant, but proud wing-tipped drone.
then i began to hear voices.
i heard them everywhere:
from madrid to barcelona,
seville to la coruña,
tenerife to trujillo,
and back again.
there was not one plaza
i could walk through
without hearing them.
they told long tales
of ancestors,
who had sailed to the new world
as conquistadors.
they boasted of battles and treasures
no irishman could have ever matched.
pizarro had also been a bastard!
so what!
i had a lot to be proud of,
they said.
i was an hidalgo!
un hijo de algo/a son of something!
I was ready for the order of santiago!
for a dukedom!
armed with new
self confidence,
and a swagger as sharp
as toledo sword steel,
i requested a transfer
to one of our remaining
colonial outposts,
and got it
crossing a tranquil ocean,
i arrived in panama.
within hours of my arrival,
i began to campaign against
giving the canal to the natives.
"we yanks built it, damn it, it's ours!"
i was an imperialist extraordinaire!
life was good.
bully!
secretly,
i began to plan:
i was going to sabotage the canal treaty,
by taking over the panamanian government.
i attempted to recruit like-minded patriots
at embassy cocktail parties and local brothels,
and was duly arrested.
"what's wrong here, my little darlings?
it's me bobby-boy!"
i shouted at the marines
in my best irish brogue.
"are we not all on the same side?"
i cried at the red-faced ambassador
as i heard
one black marine cock his pistol.
"mr. rios," he started.
"no, it's rivers, robert r-i-v-e-r-s!
a.k.a. bobby boy."
"mr. rios," he began again.
then it hit me,
no matter
what i did
or said,
i was still
roberto rios.
i was forced to leave panama,
like a dog with its tail tucked up its ass.
i knew the road ahead
was going to be tough,
if i ever took up
with roberto rios again,
cause all my fellow patriots
were sons-of-bitches,
who wouldn't give him the time of day.
in spite of this,
i became roberto rios again.
i sought out my mother, the old spaniards,
and puerto ricans of my childhood,
but it was too late to ask
for their forgiveness,
because death
had replaced them with strangers.
eventually,
my self loathing
would've killed me.
who had i been kidding?
i had never fooled anyone
with robert rivers.
anyway, why couldn't roberto rios
be a patriot of this great nation?
so here i am,
a little beaten-down,
but still
a proud citizen of the empire.
don't expect me to bad mouth this nation,bbbb
'cause in spite of what's happened,
i still love my country,
the united states of america.
so you better watch your mouth
around me lad,
unless you want me to roll up my sleeves
and john wayne the crap out of you.
i know
that i
will be
a hero
to some.
and to a lot of others,
a rotten son-of-a-bitch
who got exactly what he deserved
fatherless,
i am a fugitive from the bronx apartment,
where the bullet-riddled spanish,
who had been chased across the ocean by franco,
sat like an audience at the edge of the pots
old women hovered over, in their haste to feed
yours truly, the family's first american son.
the way i was treated,
i could've been taken for a borbon in exile,
or even a misplaced rockefeller.
but i was neither.
i was as common
as newspaper.
but before i fled the old,
smothering spanish flesh,
i walked down the same street,
where my mother had once stood,
hypnotized,
before the glare of a theater marquee;
dreaming of a prince sired by eisenhower,
who would whisk her away from all the ugliness
she felt america had set aside just for her.
i shared her dreams, until i almost forgot
what the old spaniards back in the apartment
looked like.
growing restless with time,
i moved on as if pushed by an impatient hand.
following the ways of the world
i had learned from john ford,
i sought the irish.
stopping at the first bar
i came to, i stood in awe
before the green-tinted
plate glass windows.
i peered inside
because i had been taught
that all of america's heroes
were irish,
and i wanted
a share of that courage.
i needed it to be a real american.
so i took a deep breath
and ventured in.
behind the bartender,
hung a photo
of the boston strong boy,
the great john l. sullivan.
taking my cue from the fates,
i roared
in my best imitation of ward bond:
"i'll take on any man in the house!"
dozens of angry red faces glared at me,
while dozens of others gave me their backs.
within seconds, i was grabbed
and booted out to the sidewalk.
broken-hearted, my blood pushed,
pulled me towards the streets
where the spanish
of my mother's people was spoken.
i soon found myself in a bar deserted
by the irish over a generation ago.
there, bitter communists
plotted against the empire
by cursing eisenhower and
muñoz marin all in one breath.
i bolted out the door quickly
because i wanted to be
a patriot of this nation
and a good patriot
never consorts with the enemy.
so i kept walking,
but all i ever saw
was the ugliness,
that had kept my mother
on the balcony of the rko,
where maureen o'hara had failed
to bury her accent.
that's when i decided
i needed to leave
roberto rios behind me.
i was going to succeed
where my mother had failed.
so i became robert rivers.
a.k.a. bobby boy.
finally, i felt i was
really on my way
to becoming the jewel
of america's eye!
a first citizen of the empire!
but i soon discovered
that it wasn't that easy,
'cause that damn spic, roberto rios,
kept coming back
every time i opened my mouth.
i grew desperate!
that's when i deserted family and friends,
and began to run, searching for places
where he would not be recognized,
where i could reinvent myself
a day at a time
without him or those who knew him
laying waste to what i thought
back then was my birthright,
my destiny.
years of wandering followed,
during which i worked on my accent.
at first, i couldn't fool anyone;
but i got better with time.
i worked hard,
going at it with hammer and chisel
`til i got the spic out completely.
finally, i was left with an accent
jose ferrer would've envied.
i was at the top
of my game
when robert rivers,
a.k.a. bobby boy,
patriot
and right-wing soldier of fortune,
arrived in miami
the cubans showered me with abrazos.
perhaps they thought i was with the c.i.a.,
and that i had millions for their cause.
perhaps the little bit of victor mclaglen i
had thrown into my accent made the difference.
i don't know
and i didn't care
because they loved bobby boy like a compadre
and brother.
i was their born-in-the-usa sahib!
their tough two-fisted bronx bwana!
who walked the walk and talked the talk,
when it came to fighting el comunismo.
things could not have been better.
imagine my joy!
bobby boy reigned!
and roberto rios
was nowhere in sight!
i loved my new life and freedom.
but a good thing never lasts
.
soon i began to have nightmares.
they were fueled by secret fears
that i would slip up
and be unmasked,
and exposed as an imposter.
i realized that my new
name and accent were not enough.
i needed more validation!
i needed credentials!
so i took to the road again,
heading straight for the imperial seat,
because i had to prove
once and for all that bobby boy
really reigned.
arriving in washington, d.c.,
i put myself at the disposal of the empire,
and was quickly packed off to spain;
because there was no fooling these people.
they knew exactly where my mother had been born.
shouting, "remember the maine!"
i crossed the trembling ocean,
armed with the knowledge
of a thousand treaties,
and international intrigues.
head-over-heels,
drunk with power,
i was at the spear-head
of our imperial mandate.
boy o' boy, was I ecstatic!
soon, i walked through the corridors of power
another arrogant, but proud wing-tipped drone.
then i began to hear voices.
i heard them everywhere:
from madrid to barcelona,
seville to la coruña,
tenerife to trujillo,
and back again.
there was not one plaza
i could walk through
without hearing them.
they told long tales
of ancestors,
who had sailed to the new world
as conquistadors.
they boasted of battles and treasures
no irishman could have ever matched.
pizarro had also been a bastard!
so what!
i had a lot to be proud of,
they said.
i was an hidalgo!
un hijo de algo/a son of something!
I was ready for the order of santiago!
for a dukedom!
armed with new
self confidence,
and a swagger as sharp
as toledo sword steel,
i requested a transfer
to one of our remaining
colonial outposts,
and got it
crossing a tranquil ocean,
i arrived in panama.
within hours of my arrival,
i began to campaign against
giving the canal to the natives.
"we yanks built it, damn it, it's ours!"
i was an imperialist extraordinaire!
life was good.
bully!
secretly,
i began to plan:
i was going to sabotage the canal treaty,
by taking over the panamanian government.
i attempted to recruit like-minded patriots
at embassy cocktail parties and local brothels,
and was duly arrested.
"what's wrong here, my little darlings?
it's me bobby-boy!"
i shouted at the marines
in my best irish brogue.
"are we not all on the same side?"
i cried at the red-faced ambassador
as i heard
one black marine cock his pistol.
"mr. rios," he started.
"no, it's rivers, robert r-i-v-e-r-s!
a.k.a. bobby boy."
"mr. rios," he began again.
then it hit me,
no matter
what i did
or said,
i was still
roberto rios.
i was forced to leave panama,
like a dog with its tail tucked up its ass.
i knew the road ahead
was going to be tough,
if i ever took up
with roberto rios again,
cause all my fellow patriots
were sons-of-bitches,
who wouldn't give him the time of day.
in spite of this,
i became roberto rios again.
i sought out my mother, the old spaniards,
and puerto ricans of my childhood,
but it was too late to ask
for their forgiveness,
because death
had replaced them with strangers.
eventually,
my self loathing
would've killed me.
who had i been kidding?
i had never fooled anyone
with robert rivers.
anyway, why couldn't roberto rios
be a patriot of this great nation?
so here i am,
a little beaten-down,
but still
a proud citizen of the empire.
don't expect me to bad mouth this nation,bbbb
'cause in spite of what's happened,
i still love my country,
the united states of america.
so you better watch your mouth
around me lad,
unless you want me to roll up my sleeves
and john wayne the crap out of you.
i know
that i
will be
a hero
to some.
and to a lot of others,
a rotten son-of-a-bitch
who got exactly what he deserved
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