Where the road from Playas twists
to aim all four lanes at la linea,
a line that fades if not high-lighted,
a red sedan stalls in heavy traffic
smothering the downhill momentum
toward the digital surveillance slots.
A hungover passenger climbs out,
his beard measuring four careless days.
He falls against the trunk and,
his life’s weight rolls his junk home,
past the rainbow vendors of mementos
caricatured by migration north and south.
Gravity fights back and fatigue brakes him,
makes the lanes like metal bars of a cage.
La vieja raising a box of Chicklets,
amazingly animates me to get out
of my car and help push for home.
Brandon Cesmat – please see author’s full bio in his additional works and on the author’s page.