MOLESTED IN MODESTO

In the squinting distance you can see

the Maginot line separating the magi

from the 'migres; the wind

blows swiftly through it, carrying dust, a newspaper,

the bark of a dog, the scent

of despair. Walk with me; See the point where the quality

of light is not strained, the cracks in the asphalt

come to an abrupt halt, the smut gives way to clean

light calite dust? It is that point where our world begins

and ends. This is The Explanation: the reason

for the profligacy of Potter's Brand whiskies, the profusion

of donut shops, the grace of plastic madonnas, the smell

of canal water that overruns this place. It's why

Restaurants thrive six blocks

from the rendering plant, and the unemployment rate swells

like a melon on the vine rotting

in the sun in this land

of plenty. It's the wind.

Without it there would be only the, warm, sweet smell

of the POST factory, the jalepeno bite of the HUNT'S plant,

the smooth gray tonal thump of the interstates, and the fair

to middling elegance:

the tyranny of architecture, rows of perfectly nice houses,

decaying strip centers and brand new malls. If not for the wind

that inevitable line would be sacrosanct, and we could live

in the sweet white world, without fear,

and have our Carta Blancas and chile rellenos

and refritos in peace; we would not have to wrap our minds

around this world. Never would there be

a delay in transactions while

utterances get pulled into understandings over

the rocky terrain of common Latino roots versus

the Germanic bastardization that forged our (native)

tongue. The mean of being would not intrude

on our Carnivale. But the wind,

my friend, does blow, leaving

the grains of dust and the spores of misfortune mingling

with the inevitable questions: are we the immigrants?

Are they? If we are the magi, why does the wind

scatter our thoughts, leaving

our sensibilities to settle among

the simplest refutations

of our sensibilities, leaving us

confused, perplexed,

sated, and magically

molested in Modesto.

James MacFarlane Williams

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