CAJON PASS

I did not realize
why you might
not want to bring
a newborn to Las Vegas.

But, the girls had never.
And I had never.

Did not see the need
to push anything superior
to an economy-sized car.

Or, secure a horse-power
relative to the task of the grade.

But here we were, on 15,
northeast through Saguaro

timpano, in a shoddy capsule,
propelled by the badger of a
Japanese four cylinder.

All that second-hand smoke
depleted our constitutions, and
there was nowhere to push my stroller.

No municipal playgrounds designed
to resemble a bucaneer’s schooner
or makeshift inter-continental bullet.

Not one diaper-changing parapet
or whimsical, interior doubloons
for me to cash at my exit.

Only the promise of a town
started by a radioactive evangelist
and named Zzyzx in honor of
the last word in English.

Next time I cross the Cajon
I want it atop albino elephants,
and deranged ostriches, demanding,
we are your new leaders!