December 2013

The Overpass at I-10 and 410

half empty vodka bottle
wedged tight between her knees,

a crumpled carbon pink slip
thrust roughly to the floor board,

she gunned the engine to
fifty – straining on incline.

five stories she zoomed to
some gods concrete nirvana.

hit eighty at the apex,
she had the best view in town

laughing like a demon at
a’angel’s inauguration.

a flying glass and metal
cascarón exploding,

it rained vodka and teeth,
pink confetti and a heart.

—Sonya Groves

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