Spending the morning
with the ants and fallen
leaves in the parking lot
at the Parkway Plaza.
Drinking coffee and a
glazed old fashioned
donut. It is probably
not the wisest choice
for me, but I make flawed
choices many times.
Waiting for the second
battery charge from my
insurance in three hours.
I guess I gambled on
half an hour of running
the car would be enough.
In the meantime an ant
crawled up my neck and
another ran across my
cell phone screen. I pinched
one and flicked the other.
I became a killer and
committed an assault.
The ants must have fell
on me from tree above,
kamikaze style. I feel bad
for what I did. Frustrated,
with this 2002 black
El Dorado Cadillac, and
its back break lights that
stay on even when the
engine is turned off. It
has been happening for
weeks. The mechanic
kept it for days trying to
get a proper diagnostic
check, or so he tells me.
It has to be a faulty part,
a switch. Many laypersons
have told me so. An extensive
Google search has told me
many things. I am thinking
of naming the car Christine.
It seems to have a mind of
its own. If it was running well,
this poem would not exist.
Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal was born in Mexico, lives in California, and
works in the mental health field in Los Angeles, CA. His poems have appeared
in Blue Collar Review, Crossroads, Kendra Steiner Editions, Mad Swirl, The Rye
Whiskey Review, Unlikely Stories, and Yellow Mama Webzine.
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