Crossing a Border
by Mary Jo Balistreri

Velvety brown spikes of cattails rise
like exclamation points
into a deep blue New Mexico sky.

Between them, guarded by a white rail fence,
sits a vintage blue Ford pickup—
without glass windows, probably without a motor.

In its angled perfection—long cab,
squared off wheel wells,
windows and truck bed—

you might say it doesnít belong
having jumped the border,
but you would be wrong.

Though the truck has crossed into
new territory, it gives texture and tone
creates complexity and interest

in an otherwise pleasant
but unremarkable stretch of lowland.
The truck forces one to ponder…

Did someone place it there?
Can trucks still be trucks without
carrying something?

Does it matter?

It seems the view would be
incomplete without a blue truck
in the middle of its green field.

Maybe thatís purpose enough.


Return to:

[New] [Archives] [Join] [Contact Us] [Poetry in Motion] [Store] [Staff] [Guidelines]