Richard Vargas was born in Compton, CA. He earned his B.A. at Cal State University, Long Beach, where he studied under Gerald Locklin and Richard Lee He edited/published five issues of The Tequila Review, 1978-1980, publishing early works by Jimmy Santiago Baca, Alberto Rios, Nila Northsun, Dennis Cooper, Michael C Ford, Ron Koertge, and many more. His first book, McLife, was featured twice in February 2006, on Garrison Keillor’s Writer’s Almanac. A second book, American Jesus, was published in 2007. His third book, Guernica, revisited, was published April 2014, by Press 53, and was featured once more on Writer's Almanac. A fourth book, How A Civilization Begins, Mouthfeel Press, was released in September 2022. His most recent publication is leaving a tip at the Blue Moon Motel, Casa Urraca Press, July 2023. Vargas received his MFA from the University of New Mexico, 2010, where he workshopped his poetry with Joy Harjo. He was recipient of the 2011 Taos Summer Writers’ Conference’s Hispanic Writer Award, was on the faculty of the 2012 10th National Latino Writers Conference and facilitated a workshop at the 2015 Taos Summer Writers’ Conference. He also edited/published The Más Tequila Review from 2009-2015, featuring poets from across the country. His poetry continues to appear in poetry journals and anthologies. Samples of his poetry, videos, and etc. can be found at https://www.richardvargaspoet.com/
leaving a tip at the Blue Moon Motel
i always take it for granted
the dusted chest of drawers and nightstands
the well-made bed with the crisp sheets
folded and tucked at each corner
sure to bring a smile to the grumpiest
of drill sergeants
the snow-white towels, the clean tub and toilet
a commendable attempt to add a little class
with that peculiar folding of the first
square of toilet paper hanging
from the roll
rarely giving a thought to the women
who roam the hallways in the morning
knocking on doors looking for the empty
rooms ready for them to do their magic
no thought given to
the kids they raise
the bills paid late
the men who leave
and don’t come back
they pick up after all of us
oblivious strangers passing
through on our way to a better
place than this
i leave a five-dollar bill and loose change
on the table as i check out
my small token of appreciation
for these hard scrubbing angels
doing their best to provide
a place to rest on the long
smokers
from inside the breakroom
eating my lunch and surrounded
by co-workers munching on spicy Cheetos
washing them down with Mountain Dew
staring into their electrical
hand-held devices that
suck out what’s left
of their humanity
i look out the window
see them gather
in the space designated
for their shortened
life spans and lungs
congested with thick phlegm
a stranger asks for a light
and in the blink of an eye
an arm extends with a small flame
to be shared and appreciated
standing in small circles
they smile and look each
other in the eye
engage in conversation
i almost envy them
talking about things
the rest of us have
long forgotten
living and dying
this spaceship
orbits a hot ball
of solar blasts cracking
a sky with skin cancers
dried up riverbeds
and whirling dust devils
guardian angels throw
grief and poetry at the walls
watch them stick
blow chops of melancholy jazz
on tarnished horns
in small rooms filled
with clouds of skunk
weed smoke and
the clinking of cheap
shot glasses
it’s almost last call
one more day awaits
their ain’t enough
