King City Again  Ami Chen Mills-Naim



Against blue sky

gilt hills, camel backs,

Cloaked in golden grasses


Would be so lonely

but for the

sharp and particular

money Green

of Coastal Oaks


Green backs dotted

alongsides of brown

mountain shoulders

Running like herds in ridges

Twisted, parched

regal silhouettes


I've laid so much to rest along

the folds and shoulders of these hills

floating and

rolling along

the 101

mind unraveling

with the hill line

finally unrolling

to flatline

like this high



Twice we've

broken down here

Earned three speeding

tickets between us—

husband and I

when this highway

was our umbilical cord

he there, me here


Always windy, windy, windy

in King City

Billboard cutout of white granddaddy family farmer


implying none here

where wind makes career

of roaring


—beyond bearing


Who lives here?


  family farmers


When car broke down,


Picked up

by Mexican family farmers

in granddaddy shiny pickup

and stopped at house on windy plain,

dropped downtown on the main

finally, after many

Mexican hours

towed by Mexican tow man

all the way through

to Santa Cruz

for a hundred bucks

to soundtrack of mariachis

four squished in front cab

eating most tasty

pork tamales


The Mexicans are taking over

—or were they here before?

And could that be

Just Fine?


As everything becomes

Fine in one's mind

here in King City