Carry On

In the Sonoran desert a vietnamese restaurant claims to be:

Authentic.

A billboard promises:

Career services for life.

You can pull-n-save for auto and truck parts

and somewhere teenagers are baking brownies on a dashboard

Come to try a cactus cooler,

The Taco Bell has breakfast

My dad is drinking and drunk and genuinely happy to see me.

There is plenty of chlorine and conditioned air

an endless string of: sunset spas, self-storage facilities, palo verde palaces, piedmont plastics, and places to pay-to-park

My sister shows me her new shelf and how she plans to rearrange herself

there's an AT&T, A Title and Tag, A Jimmy Johns, A Jamba Juice, and A 99 Cents Only

My brother offers me weed

and everyone keeps telling me that "its a dry heat"

there's Queen Creek, Apache Junction, Rio Salado, and a Best Western

All the bars on Mill Avenue have Misters

Gadzooks, the Wexler, Even Tacos Tiajuana

My mom cries at the airport and a TSA agent asks,

Why am I carrying on a cactus?

Sandy soil, sharp spines, and a tendency to rot

It's a living memory

I have to carry it with me.