El Camino Real 3
We're balancing the heat of the day
on the tops of our heads, walking
along the shoulder of the road
to the new liquor store for Cokes,
which she said would take fifteen minutes tops
but instead is taking over an hour.
On one side, a field of cotton, ready
to be picked, thick and white
with loosened bulbs; on the other, hard dirt
and nothing, then a ditch, a road, some
morbid-looking piece of farm equipment,
and in the distance, the rise of the interstate
and the woozy sound it makes.
In loose reference to a conversation
we've been having off and on all summer,
she says, "Okay, what if we're already dead
and this is heaven?" The question hangs there
in front of us. We walk through it. A car
passes us from behind, and the hot breeze
hits the backs of our legs. The road curves.
Far ahead, the liquor store flashes
its bottles of booze. "We're here," she sings,
though we're not there and won't be there
for another ten minutes. Between us
and the store, the road waves its fingers
of heat. Beyond the store, the road gets thin
but doesn't disappear. As far as we know,
it goes on forever.
Copyright Credit: Carrie Fountain, "El Camino Real" from Burn Lake. Copyright © 2010 by Carrie Fountain. Reprinted by permission of Penguin Random House LLC.
Source: Burn Lake (Penguin Random House LLC, 2010)