in our Hyundai Santa Fe. We’re on our way
to my grandparents’ house
& then the market to get husks for the tamales.
Our car begins to shake
& the ground beneath seems to wiggle.
It is time for the bridge to collapse
after 83 years. Cars begin careening
off, some hang over the edge like they’re about
to go skydiving but not quite ready to jump. Some zoom right
off like they’re racing. All the cars
have noise-canceling interiors so
it is silent. You & me knew
this would happen eventually
& we are prepared. We press the
“Fly” button in our car
& soon the red car is lifted
off the crumbling ground
not by wings. We are not scared. This is happening
at the crest of the bridge. The cars
below are becoming smaller
& to our right
there are five seagulls
flying almost together.
They do not look at us
in our flying sedan
because what are we to them?
Do you want to hold hands now? I don’t need
to have them on the wheel.
Nicholas Reiner is a Latino poet. He lives in Santa Monica, CA with his wife.