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
way
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
waving
implying none here
where wind makes career
of roaring
Incessant
—beyond bearing
Who lives here?
Mexicans,
family farmers
When car broke down,
last,
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
again.
read about the author | © 2005 Contrary Magazine