Justin Jacoby Smith is an organizer, web geek, Buddhist, and poet.

in defense

its the
mountains in the
west, the oil
refinery singing
a torch song in
the pitch emptywide
sky (and all night
long). it's the
syrupthick and
treeladen hills of the
middle with
old german women
selling peaches
and strawberry preserves
and heavy darkened beer.
its the half broken pickup
at the light on e riverside
filled with paint-covered
singing gritos
for the weekend.
it's the green canopies
over I-10 out east
with shade nicer
than a glass of water.
it's the best frijoles
you've ever had
served in a styrofoam
cup for a dollar
just a stone's throw
from the rio bravo herself,
and line dancers
drunk stupid stumbling
but most of all smiling in
their pearl snaps.
it's abuelo angel,
whose face i can't
remember, but whose
name i'll never forget.
it's boots by the beach
and a house full of cousins
with an old metal furnace
and a beauty no language
has words for.
and i love you.
and i love you.
and i love you.