I’ve posted Espada’s poetry before, but this one seems so appropriate for the current election cycle.
Revolutionary Spanish Lesson
Whenever my name is mispronounced,
I want to buy a toy pistol,
put on dark sunglasses,
push my beret to an angle,
comb my beard to a point,
hijack a busload of Republican tourists from Wisconsin,
force them to chant anti-American slogans in Spanish,
and wait for the bilingual SWAT team to helicopter overhead,
begging me to be reasonable.