At the neighborhood store, a monopoly
business crackles with a target market,
rice, frijoles, tortillas, lard, Mexican bread.
Tight jeans, tank tops stretched to the limit,
brown babies with Mestizo eyes steal your
gaze, seven-year-olds bounce soccer balls
beside Grandma, Aunt, Mom, Dad, children
of history’s cradle swell, move, fly, careen
into the future like a rocket on the Fourth,
taking the family with them, ready or not.
Two Anglos look for green tea, low fat stuff.