Red Lights (Before the Closing of Kroger)

Red Lights (Before the Closing of Kroger)

There are places I’ll remember allmy life, though some have changed: blaresfrom the driver’s side, a sun-burnt beardedman’s mint-condition, purple Impala. Damn,that ride’s sweet. How our voices will drivesmack into air like the sparrow veering to a newdirection. On the passenger side of day, T-Painand Lil Wayne pull alongside in booming clarionof swagger—the hot thump of bass and ghettofabulousness—clanking ballers giving rhythmto a small city. Catty-corner, Kroger occupiesblue collars who walk to get sustenance, no food—a free connection for sweet reciprocity, to notassuage oneself by dank room, solitary confinement.We visualize neighbors who chat beyond silenceof good job, of how a lawn’s so greenest green,a Streisand song couldn’t handle it—since the bigwater shortage of the late 80s. Our houses drawcharacter like our music. We are different typesof rats in same amazement for peanut butter, forcheese. The wind mends us, makes us take offour open-toed sandals, drive all “country,” footout the window, slapped by hot obstinate wind,feeling gas petal oscillate speed, feeling vibration,warm leg of our woman touch ours—to not let go,to keep motion neutral for people and things thatwent before: dad’s souped-up Chevy on our 22-inch chrome rims—nothing else moves. NormanRockwell haggles with Russell Simmons on AbbeyRoad; a violet Midwest, full-grown, knows itsmirror, knows tomorrow won’t slide left or die.