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My love tears like a butter croissant preserved in clear washed glass and glowing yellow lights.

Starbucks and Magic Johnson laugh over a cup of decaf. One of 28 poses around the country says State Representative Jesse Jones.

Old skinny black man in his Sunday best suit of soft chalky stripes meanders over my way as he turns his caramel, clean-shaved, glowing face away from the sun to hit his pelt hat. I catch the green peaceful eyes that dance in air like the merthiolate my grandmother dripped on my open wounds. His son torso turns to beep lock the Mercedes behind him and trails his proud father: Picture of Dallas

I keep the days with significant events: the trip to Dallas-11/18, his birthday-11/16, charcoal eyebrows with entangled wavy eyelashes looking for a soul-searching experience 11/14, and so on, and so forth and so it goes on unemployment.

My tears flow like stale yellow almond biscotti that shamefully costs 2.99, shameful like the corroded River of Magdalena and puddles in the aguas estancadas del barrio de Santa Elena.

Mysterious guy, with diamond earrings and LL COOL-J swaggers, flirts with me, says to me, “Shhh! Here comes a customer now!” Scurry off to act.

Picture me this: Short Hispanic vato riding a Ford 150 extended cab with tattooed barbed wire in left arm carrying change, while Caucasian mother with two mixed, six foot tall daughters walk in like Greek Towers. I laugh as the girl behind the counter wonders why her mom is always tripping much like mine: Scenery of Dallas.

I stopped chattering my teeth and eating my nails, one month ago when I got laid off; my boyfriend barely realized those are signs of stress. Now, I chemically suppress panic attacks with strong coffee followed and foamy cappuccinos. I make and remake myself to make sense of it all and try to sing from it all:

Tailgate me like only a Dallas driver could and accept me like a
Wal-Mart return policy without the time restrains.
In this Dallas spot, I sit and sit pondering, on the murder of Kennedy,
On sheltered prejudicial stupidity,
And all echoes I hear in my heart with sincerity,
Is that Clara Smith song:
“When a woman looses a job, she just sits up at night and cries.”

(last modified 11/18/2001, merthiolate, a red dye placed on wounds to prevent infection)

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