Josie Delgado ~ A Poem of the Central Valley

Author: Jack Remick
Copyright: © 2011 Jack Remick.
Cover: Original Painting by Susan Canavarro
Publisher: Quartet Seattle
Where to Buy: Paperback and Kindle eBook.

The Story

In California’s Central Valley an epic love story plays out between Ricky, a seventeen year old Anglo boy and his Chicana girlfriend, Josie Delgado. Driven by social class mores to hide their love, Ricky and Josie are caught between two cultures: Josie’s brother distrusts all Anglos,while Ricky’s mother forbids him to cross the racial barrier. But the lovers don’t listen. Josie will do anything for the boy she loves and loving Josie drives Ricky crazy. When her brother discovers Josie’s involvement with Ricky, he sends her away, breaking Ricky’s heart. Separated, the two teen-age lovers know there’s only one way their story can end and no one will be happy about it.

Reviews & Interviews:

Ricky and Josie, Central Valley Romeo and Juliet, September 13, 2011

Josie Delgado: A Poem of the Central Valley (Paperback)

Ay, chavalo, you mus’ read this slim, elegant story of love, lust and loss … a poetic read filled with the language of the valley, the sweet taste of Josie Delgado and Glen Minter’s peaches and the sting of peach fuzz and a loaded .357 … “Will you kill yourself for me, chavalo?”

Author Notes:



Saturday nite, Josie, another world in those lips
that mouth, that hair, that skin—
Josie is one hundred percent mine—
We cruise Broadway, Josie’s dark hair
oiled ebony and she snorts askance
at the blond Anglo chicks
in their Daddys’ Caddies and she says,
I’ll kill you  if you ever
look at one of those Anglo sluts.
Josie is pure, clean, everything I need.
At 1 a.m. we cut the horses loose
on Bethel Avenue, goose bumps, engine torqued
as tight as lug nuts snugged down on chrome,
the smell of rubber burned off—half inch thick
slabs of rubber, fifty dollars worth of Goodyear
Super Trac stinking in the Sanger nite,
the flip-flash of hubcaps
headlites turn the rims to flares
shining out to blind and the thrust of 450 horses
slams my head into the back of the seat,
neck pops, neck bone cracks, and I dive
into the absolute joy of sex
without naked mouths kissing…
the snarl of the horses and beside me
Josie’s hand tightens on my shoulder
and I smell fear so bald it reeks,
but I lay it into second, the whine and thresh
of a smooth speed shift—a second orgasm—
to my left the fence rails blast by blurs
of brown, a single streak of silver—
wire eating headlites—the yellow line licks
the smooth belly of the Ford, bored and stroked.
Josie clutches my arm.
I hit third gear and the horses scream—
rumble of metal and glass—
I smell scorched engine oil on the manifold
And I search for headlites, cop lites,
spot dual nicks of lite in the rearview mirror
and I back off, feel her hand unclench, fingernails digging
through my skin, I glance at her face
angelic, beatific, ice-sheet calm, little sparks of sweat
on her forehead, black hair puffed stiff.
Her perfume filters up through a veil
of fear and I touch her bare leg and she says
Jeez, that was cool. Let’s do it again.