April Fox

It's one of those days where the sun comes on
aggressive
Staring you down as you drive
Fading out the blue around it and
burning off the lacy edges
of the clouds below
While you avert your eyes and blink
waiting to round the next curve
so the mountains can swallow it whole before
spitting it out again
Brighter than before. 

Stopped in traffic, the car idles
restless and jittery
anxious
not quite dying to prove that it can run
on three cylinders and the dregs
of last year's oil
I trace the open sun roof with my fingers while it dances
in the heat. 

Across the intersection, a large man in a stiff white shirt
buttoned up to where his chin should be
is stuffed into an aging
Samurai
all the hope he has is kept
in the bags under his eyes
He holds the brake while the sun
shoves at his back, screaming
Move. 

Behind me, the once motherless child laughs
at nothing
at everything
Paul Simon croons my name,
drags it out
four syllables deep
I hit the forward button
lift my eyes to the sky
and follow the sun's harsh directive.