the geography of rice

i've been thinking she said
about the geography of rice. i mean
who eats it and why, where it grows-
is lowlands isn't it? i'm a mountain girl
myself and we didn't have rice
at all until we moved to florida.




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at the corner of the light
i always catch because i won't
speed through the senior zone you never know
when the cops will have a speed trap
three guys rest against the wall of the texaco  food mart
smoking cigarettes, huddled beside their bikes
they are small, they're on bikes, i'll call them
middle schoolers skipping but they could
easily be waiting for it to warm up so they can open
the car wash stand that the texaco mart owner-
an indian you can tell by the pipes in the glass case
on the counter as well as the scent of curry coming
from the deli, where cubans are advertised but basmati
is available-allows them to operate at the edge
of the parking lot, next to a farmer's market also under
a tarp strung over formed aluminum poles that mark
twenty square feet of entrepeneurship here in  town n cuba.
on the other side of the highway, a man with a dog walks
by the bus stop on his way through the pawn shop's
parking lot. the dog is a white mixed breed he rescued
 when he was about six weeks old
from the drainage ditch by his house. why
do people wait so long to drop
them off, he wondered, as he picked up the shivering
soaked puppy. at four weeks he would have drowned
the dog and his owner are passed
 by a man on a bike who has his hoodie
drawn tightly over his head so that his face resembles
an aztec carving found on calendars that predate any thought of
european descendency. he's headed home to his wife,
with a bag of vigo yellow rice and a small package
of legs and thighs tucked inside
 his jacket. she was hoping he would
bring pimentos and peas as well but when he lays
the bag on the table she smiles and says thank you.
the bus stop holds a woman with her hair in a bun
in black pants and down jacket. she's on her  phone
flipping through websites looking for the vital information
she needs for her assignment. if she blows this presentation
she's pretty sure she'll be taking an early bus home. last
night the baby was colicky, she couldn't put him down
for more than twenty minutes. she yawns . the light turns green.
i continue the short drive to work. in the five point two miles
and fifteen minutes it takes for me to get there
four thousand lives have crossed my path
and i sometimes feel like we are all
so similar we could be grains of rice in budha's bowl.





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