Going North

                                                          ....a black Bronco stops:

A bumper rack supports a red, blue and white ice chest, covered 

              with road grime slung up from the roads of Mexico,

                                                  Texas, Louisiana  and now here. 


              Five children scramble from the back seat of the Bronco.. 

              Their hooded feet bounces them from the pavement. 

              and their ruffled pajamas display the printed patterns

                           of yellow finches, blue fish, horses and daisy bees

                               floating among lavender-white clouds 

                                     with saddle bag pajama pockets for each hand. 


The children leap from inside of these cartoon, 

                         as their little hands reach for the sun.

                            as if a dream for a far country is waking up.

               Then a front-seat voice pulls them back to a stand-still. 

               The driver of the Bronco, a cowboy of reddish leather-skin, 

               breaks into a smile, pulling the air into his nostrils,

                                      filling his chest with the same dream.


Stretching himself out into the shape of Mexican wooden cross.

                he looks back to the highway off-ramp along I-10, 

                staring down the harshness of long-time-travel. 

                The other passenger, a woman, wearing jeans, 

                                                      covered with stitched-in wild flowers,

                slaps her ass with both hands, waking up her legs and feet 

                that refuse to uncurl from gripping her knees throughout the night of road travel;

                                             she explodes with, “Don’t go a step more! 


                The children gallop to the nearby outside concrete table.

                From the Ice chest, the woman pulls a wax paper bundle of 

                rolled flour tortillas; placing the homemade into a McDonald vendor’s bag;

                she turns the two golden arches on the bag to the faces of North America.  

                One by one, the children remove their morning meal from the bag,

                looking at one another with the mystery of an endless dream 

                                                                              in need of full tank of gas...