Somewhere South of North Alvarado

By Lucy Engelman

He came from Oregon way back
before he knew curiosity
or ransom.
Lightly he traced tools in the sandlots,
wiped broad sweat openly.

But then it changed.
He saw sweetwater at night
and sang lullabies to blackbirds, and
started speaking languages not yet heard.
These times had been long passed in the waning.

Yet ever so slightly, he turned,
looked over his shoulder,
seeing not the brassy billboards glowing,
but instead
the yawning entrance to the freeway.
Waltzing toward it,
he disappeared.

This article was originally published in Slake No. 3 To read all of the stories from that issue, purchase or subscribe at shop.slake.la.