Freeways
Christine
(Hathwell) Olsen Davis
In nineteen fifty-one, freeways in L.A.
were still a novelty. We’d cruise the Santa
Ana to Soto Street to see Uncle Ray,
Aunt Consula, and eight black eyed boy cousins.
Our parents would talk, sip icy tequila
In the sweet, humid twilight. But we would slip
Out the back door, run to Pepe’s Mercado,
Buy penny balloons, fill them with water,
Toss them at one another and laugh in the night.
Now freeways are L.A,’s trademark,
And we don’t let out kids play out after dark.
