by Paul Martínez Pompa
The air is like gunmetal.
of music rattles a van's shell as it waits
the stoplight. I cross the street
and my breath rises
blends into the night
like a car alarm.
A man clutches frozen
towels and a tip box outside CITGO's car wash.
as if seeing and breathing were done with
the eyes alone.
The clerk inside looks
vulnerable until I spot mounted cameras.
What else-pistol? Baseball bat?
tucked under the counter.
home in skin not safe to be at night.
Copyright ©:Paul Martínez Pompa
Last updated February 24, 2023