Discount

The industrial hull of the SUV Sways with the slightest wind taps And pothole shoves. Popeye’s signs, Golden shell displays, the lingering smell Of Premium-grade gasoline. The prices are Down, but our gas meter still teeters closely, Dangerously, just inches away from zero. Still, we push on. We pass Targets and Walmarts, advertising last minute holiday sales. We pass packed churches, Minute investment banks, and lush green fields Of ochre and chamomile. We love it here, when it's like this, swaying and moving and existing and living, traffic lights blinking signaling malfunction, creaky train tracks rattling under thick rubber tires, Black faces covered in bandanas, riding sterling White horses on cobblestone streets, homes stuffed with joyous presents and family love. Christmas lights line walls and corners like cobwebs, bells jingle and chestnuts roast. A stray dog hurtles through aqua-hued Alleys, neighborhood convenient stores shut the Shutters for the night. Randall’s BBQ pit sits Idle in front of the Dollar General. We almost get in a wreck near the intersection outside of the neighborhood. I cry, my clothes dampen from stress-induced sweat. We pass backyards, homes, estates. Wired, wood, corrugated fences, kids jumping over them, gaining scarlet scabs on knees, fences beautifully embroidered, decorated with ivy from hobby lobby and signs that read, “beware of dog!” But still, we push on. We move through the backyard, inching slowly on St. Augustine grass, slithering like scaled snakes past the Water hose and dog cage. The pitbull’s mouth foams with slimy goop, but he pays no mind. We sway smoothly like wind to the living room window. No one here. We love it here, when it's like this. We see jewelry, shoes, jackets, petticoats, purses, monster trucks, guitars, Barbies. We see a red light beaming from an alarm on the wall, meaning “armed.” But still, we push on.