El Camino Real

The corridor, a New Jersey of the West, its stucco newness.

What king was it that built this highway?

The jornaleros with dusty bucket hats

wait for hire beneath the on-ramps

and blocks fill with retirees from somewhere colder.

Lava gardens now outwait the sun. Chapped garages

are stocked against the sure disaster—

the man a few blocks over with his lettuces,

Southern voice & melanomic skin

saw me walking with my infant son:

He said, hey neighbor, keep in mind
I have a shotgun. You can take my lemons if I offer:

But steal em: bam—I’ll show who’s boss.

Source: http://www.vqronline.org/poetry/2015/07/el...