Driving Home for the Weekend

The sunset catches every speck of dust on my windshield
as I drive home for the weekend, my girlfriend sitting shotgun.
It’s her first time visiting my hometown,
and I can’t wait to show her my old haunts:
the nature reserve a good bike ride from my house
in which I find myself alone with God and prickly pears;
the old tennis courts that aren’t official playing size;
family-owned Mexican restaurants
and the hedge-choked, run-down public parks.
Moorpark and Thousand Oaks, California
are typical American suburbs. Two of the safest
in the whole country, in fact, with a diverse blend
of Pioneer, Spanish, Mexican, and Asian heritage
all mixed together with a heavy dose of surf culture.
Thousand Oaks is a good place to live.

The sun disappears behind the mountains, bathing the sky
in pastel hues of pink and gold as the hills take on purple tones.
The freeway glows red with tail lights; the lanes going opposite me
are luminous with headlights as the town heads home from work.
Next to me, she looks out of the window and into my world.

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