Bass thuds in the car to my right,
extirpates the tunes from my radio
and vibrates the window. A teenager
ups the jam by Snoop Dog, I just want you
to know you’re my favorite girl.
I smile. He adjusts his Player’s cap coolly.
For all I know, he’s a thug with a gun
ubiquitously placed in my paranoid world—
lately, even the sun is a hand on my shoulder.


© 2004 by Jenni Russell