Wild-haired kid in a blue bikini
barrels down I-10 between Tucson and Phoenix,
black vinyl buckets and dashboard scorching hot, squinting into the sun
no Ray-Bans here
this is where the smile-lines begin,
this is where the rubber
meets the road.
Bare foot hangs out one of four open windows
passenger side glass hangs diagonal
off its track, broke six months ago
bath towel rigged to the driver’s seat
flaps like sheets on a clothesline
a hot wind boxes her ears
spray bottle of water in hand
economy evaporative cooling
will have to do.
The pavement radiates waves of heat
creating illusions that vanish
where vapor and asphalt meet,
‘69 Chevy spits miles out the rear view mirror,
past pecan farms and fields of Pima cotton,
this is one of those roads best forgotten.
The wild-haired kid licks her lips
and cocks a half-smile in the
ungodly furnace of July.