Voice Box
Her larynx hands had us stumped and staggered
the creature had stepped in front of our Cadillac
and stopped us cold even though we were
travelling at two hundred miles a millisecond
the top down once again
the radiator gulping and scrambling
abuela’s half-open robe
melting in the jagged wind
which carried rubble into shrubs
each ration of fog in a column
the creature looked at us
her musculature in a puddle
the flames of her fingernails
pointed at something
the foliate like a chorus
we gassed it
the empty tires went nowhere
a shoal apartment
appeared out of childhood
not now not now I heard on of my brothers say
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