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.

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