Rosary Morning

Chumash Indians were not better off.

We assume wrong-facts from history

We see living off nature as poverty,

the economically poor are unhappy,

those who don't drive to urgent care,

those who don't own a Range Rover,

those who lug Luis Vuitton luggage 

Having builds desire for emptiness.

I was in a hurry this morning to work.

The gas light blinks on, I can't make it.

On the front seat I had red cabbage and 

purple chard, first of spring to share.

With my olive drab twenty dollar bill

I put a brown bag of the vegetables to

the random man behind the formica

counter top, "twenty on seven please,

and these veggies are from my garden."

He peeks in the bag, incredulously,

"Oh my mother had these," he says in

heavy Pakistani syntax English accent.

A red headed woman in a XT 5 2018

Cadillac SUV is cursing at the credit

card machine slot for her gas pump.

She tells me, "this God dam place

is the worst station for miles around."

I smile but don't answer, not wanting

to engage in her rage morning event.

Behind black tinted windows two

children in cars seats in the back fuss.

She tells them to "shut the f... up," 

and storms into the cashier office.

I'm not certain I ought to leave the

children in her vehicle alone, so I

stand in front of her shiny new car

which has the driver side door open.

My fuel finished pumping and she

doesn't return, I see the children

are two and five approximately.

Cars park, pump and disappear.

Still, the flaming red head does

not return. I lift my shoulders,

give a shy wave to the children

who now silently watch me.

I wonder if her credit card

is hacked, or overdrawn or?

Here she comes, blue veins

in forehead popping out mad.

"God dam Indians why don't they

go back to Mexico farms," rants.

Her information is dead wrong.

Bigotry hot as wax searing skin.

I correct her mistake in thought.

Dig rock clay with iron to find

water to plant the three sisters,

rise bread in wood fire oven,

laundry washes sin outdoors,

kneel to scrub the terra cotta

In 1824 the Chumash revolted,

 burned red head's Cadillac to dust.

In my mind; but I say to her,

"Your Grandchildren are beautiful."

Knowing they are likely her own,

wish I had shared a life changing

snappy way to turn her her around.

I return to the safety of my truck.

The aroma of coffee fills the cab.

I think of the holy water font at

the Mission and recite the rosary

as I drive on to work I pray.

Caroline Gerardo copyright April 3, 2018 # 3 of my poem a day for #NationalPoetrymonth

laundry fountain

bread oven

ancient hoe 

mill

sundial