Like a milquetoast novice testing
victim skills, Sue pretends sleep,
off balance from a shift in the usual
helot roles -- new license, first time
across any border. At home she
craves invitation, is intimate with
angry voices heard through walls, the
sharp-cornered weave of party noise,
conditioned for dependence
as a lived-in, one-way street.
Older agent at the wheel
is in tune with his tough little
forked-tongue wife who loves big
bands, relentless old CDs playing
pitted swing from L.A. to Baja.
They stop for lunch in the heat of
San Filippe where mullet leap
out of the water and feel
the weight of the inauspicious air.