After Ezra Pound and Young-Hae Chang Heavy Industries
crammed into the minivan
acid washed jeans dachshund out of the cul-de-sac
we told dad to play Pearl Jam and stop at McDonald’s
green parakeet tabby cat brothers banging knees
hard to tell what or who was howling maybe it was the wind
carrying us to where mirage is the same as memory
mom said we’re almost there we’re almost there
semi-trucks daily commuters invisible dirt bike rider in the orchards
gas station to gas station we didn’t know paved roads would soon be a thing of the past
fog to smog shadows over all the roads
counting county lines until the darkest line on the map
the Mexican border chewing gum sellers between cars
drowning in honking horns clouds of dirt
blackened the air
as stars flickered out like broken headlights
the night sky was burnt motor oil
police sirens targeted the California license plates as we shuddered onto the final road
and mom said we’re here
Bryan and Kent ran upstairs
with my GameBoy in hand
I walked into the kitchen
poured a glass of water from the sink
almost took a sip until the smell hit me
I wanted to pray but hundreds of molted exoskeletons poured out of my mouth
closed my eyes and pictured California
warm carpet instead of concrete that felt wet on my bare feet
thick blankets to hide under
dark mud flowed in the gutter
kids out of school fireworks and grapefruit soda the parents
and the grandparents who stopped keeping count
fingers stained with recent tacos girls with soft brown skin
men drank empty glass bottles clinking next to the plastic chairs
earned every sip during the six day work week
they were everywhere I looked their voices
confused me called to my family for more dollars
wrapped bracelets around our wrists hand woven green and red
poured gasoline into their mouths spewed fire toward God
to the moon and praised mom’s blue eyes