Ichiban

Is there a girl from East San José, any other like me, a Ching-Chong-Sing-a-Song

All-American-Girl, growing up in Good Times & Happy Days—

whose mother worked at the school across the street

& was Japanese-or-Chinese-same-thing—  

who can still see Tommy Gonzales walking on his hands

outside the school cafeteria

on Sloppy Joe or Pizza or Spaghetti Day—

who was awed by Serena, Lavinia, Oweeda, Black girls tougher than all the boys

put together but always sweet to her mother—yes Mrs. Driscoll, thank you Mrs. Driscoll—

who climbed trees, climbed fences, especially that one down by the creek

& ripped her new corduroy pants right down the buttcrack

while running away from One-Eyed Rosie,

Big Ruby,

& Scary Tiny—

who was a Tetherball Queen because she was tall, like her daddy

& coordinated, as he said, or big-boned, as her mother said—

who punched that yellow globe six ways to Sunday until it spun

its way to the top, like the midday sun—

who called rules: no backswings, no bubbles, no poles, no ropes, no lines, no stops—

okay, call stops if you want,

you still won't win—  

whose mother walked to Lucky supermarket because Dad had the car for work and anyway

Mom didn't want to learn how to drive—

who lived a banana-bike-seat-ride away

from the barrio, popping wheelies on a sky-blue Schwinn—  

who in Mrs. Harris' class always tried  

to sit next to blue-eyed Billy Mueller & his Bazooka bubble gum—

whose nickname was MoneyBags

because she knocked on classroom doors,

collecting jingly drawstring bags full of lunch money,

carrying them

to Mrs. Salvatore in the office, who looked up from her desk

and smiled—

who was sweet on Silvester Mendoza, standing next to him and his red

Elton John t-shirt for the class picture—

whose parents believed in the Good Book

& the Good Belt & who cramped

like a kicked dog when her mother said

just wait till your dad gets home—

is there a girl from East San José—hey, no other like me—

a Ching-Chong-Bang-a-Gong-Number-One-Ichiban-Girl, who remembers Walter Roa

wiggling ALL his fingers at her, saying

we're gonna have this many babies?