I was on my trip to St. Ives
And horror entered my eyes
It was three blind mice.
With tails freshly sliced,
They say, "they're not to blame."
Latino, Chicano and Me'ican were their name.

I continued my walk,
and a man talked,
"Are you Mexican, or not?"
I pointed to a mouse, on down the road
the answer to his question, I do not know.

Am I white, or am I brown,
If I can not answer,
shouldn't I frown?
Continued on, then I saw her.

She said her name was, "Mary,"
Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
When we found us, we were 'lone,
She found her bus, to come take her home,
But anywhere that Mary went, I was sure to go.

We reach her shoe, full of destitute,
Then I wondered, should I live this to?
She walked her way in, I thought,
this couldn't be 'the fin.'�

Turned around and saw the road.
I thank myself I do not know.
No more horror entered my eyes
As I walked onto, St. Ives.

(First publication was in Milestone 2005)

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