Driving Home from Work on a Thursday
The sky above Euclid Avenue is gray.
I wonder if it is the sky or Euclid Avenue.
Her mouth ran down, down,
all the way down to hell on the street corner.
She's the story I witness everyday that becomes lost
in cement slurry right before the light turns green,
before I roll up my windows and put on the air.
Gray, gray-yellow brush line the trolley tracks.
No trolley cars this minute, just hollow echoes of hope in decibels
and a taco stand next to a row of dilapidation half mile from the freeway.
The sign reads, "5 rolled tacos with sour cream and guacamole $1.99."
They could be delicious for all I know
Does someone live in the basements below?
Bars on the windows, man of Christ selling his newspapers of doom
near my exit at the ARCO where gas is 12 cents cheaper a gallon.
It's all about the exit and the song streaming-
acoustic guitar, keys, the sweet voice of a woman
who touches my soul. Where does the grey go?
Along the I-8 all the way down to Midway Drive
the homeless slowly pedal their rusted bikes
while holding large garbage bags that are older
than the trees on the McDonald's front lawn.
I stop and buy them each a Coke then drive to the dock,
try to filter the day, the choices we make, the gravel and the brush,
the gospel man that shouts as he violently shakes his anger
onto rooftops, churches, abandoned stores,
abandoned minds. I am so lost and it's not even dark.
Hope Engel received her B.F.A. in Creative Writing from Bowling Green State University then was admitted to the M.F.A. program at the University of Arizona where she had the honor of studying poetry under Richard Shelton. She currently teaches high school in San Diego and has co-written lyrics with her singer/songwriter husband, Rusty Gordon.