7/30

4/7/13


My neighborhood has no sidewalks,
the speed limit is 25. This is appropriate;
it's a slow homicide.  The houses barely
tolerate each other - they go: rusted car, rock wall,
Matilija poppy, wrought iron, oak tree, meth lab.
Our local legends are dogwalking old women
with headwraps and five chihuahuas.
They pull with bull mastiff strength against wrists
mottled and veiny like expensive cheese.
Down the street we have three markets.  None
sell anything other than soda, cigarrettes, beer and
unrefrigerated meat.  There are peppers,
but they hide from gringos like me.
The summer comes quick and leaves late
every year.  It arrives as a heavy mallet, smashing
and overpowering with a heat dry and bloody
nose inducing.  The smell of orange blossoms,
that had made spring so beautiful it felt unfair, 
has long gone in the summer.  Sulfur instead.
Fitting for a place as hot as hell.