The roads wind and wind as the bus curves to one side and then another

They say that only 30 years ago buses could not travel to this small town

That there was no highway

Just a dirt road well travelled only by fruit sellers on their way to selling their wares in far off towns

The dirt pathes slowly began to be paved and then worn down by the tires of buses and old camionetas driving up through the sierra and then the desert and then the border towns to the linea the frontera the border

and worn by the tires of the mostly new fords and chevys with new rims and a silver steering wheel passing the old camionetas and buses on its way back to su tierra or the town

Each day the buses leave the town and the new fords enter the town passing eachother on only one road.  The linea travels down along the highway into the towns hours away from the border.

-jl

28 Mar This entry was published on March 28, 2011 at 4:39 pm and is filed under Poetry by Jessie. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.