Backtracking back and forth from HEB

I’m watching from the back seat

as we’re crossing the railroad tracks,

back and forth, as Spanish curses are

flying back and forth inside the car

to the man that sold my uncle the car in ‘92

to the car we riding in with shiny blue carpet

to what was hidden in the trunk under that carpet.

Back and forth, like my eyes and face move to

looking out the window and the side of the road,

to the front seat

my uncle patiently driving

looking visibly defeated.

Spanish curses continue to fly

as we continue looking for a yellow milk jug.

Driving back home on a bumpy dirt road

inside the faded blue Carro de Mario Almada

everyone is silent.

We navigate potholes

each bump in the road, a constant reminder

of lost groceries.

Back in ’92 potholes were a reminder of the

rusted-out trunk of the Carro de Mario Almada

and where our roads would be fixed, but were

never truly fixed after a good rain.

We can laugh about it now,

each time I drive on roads

full of potholes

or

bumpy dirt roads.

Reminisce about the asshole

that sold my uncle a car, and

didn’t mention the rusted-out trunk

covered it with bright blue carpet.