PREVISIONIST By Oscar Mancinas


What about reverse-racism
leads anyone to ask
what about reverse-racism?

Is it
the growly allure–
reverberating arousal–
of alliterative R-words?

I see you, Redskins™-rooters
Or something dumber,
more seductive? Some
special type of marvelous
fragility–award-winning suspension
of disbelief, and relief
manufactured in an abandoned
automobile factory somewhere in a novel.

But wait, there’s more.

How ‘bout reverse-classism? Reverse-oppression?

How ‘bout
my ancestresses,
conniving to cross                                           the Atlantic,
not with bad intentions                       but with simple curiosity. Human curiosity
that tortures them
in their hearts             and, on occasion, in their loins?

How ‘bout
the others
who braved the seas,
braved disease,
braved histories,
to seek bodies around which
they could wrap themselves
like skin around a book?

Mighty clitorises,
fearless breasts.

How ‘bout
the chabochí
minding his farm
tending his master’s livestock
near Basque foothills
or Castilian fields or Valencian woods
or any other

Without warning, the poor hijo de you-know-what
gets ambushed and mounted
at arrow-point like a half-broken
bus bench or abandoned carnival
ride. The hide-clad conqueresses grind
to a finish and, bored
with their conquests, disappear
like cries shouted into paper, leave
all to wonder: what was the point?

By Oscar Mancinas


My name is Oscar Mancinas. Attached are five poems of mine. I’m a young mestizo from around the way, just trying to survive and thrive. Read other work of mine in Blue Mesa Review, Contraposition Magazine, and

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