To the Guatemalan boys who work the night shift at the taco shack with the blue roof downtown
and who come to school late or not at all

Nelson,
You slick back your hair every morning
coat it in globs of translucent ooze until it
shines like the sports car you wish you had
Instead, you ride a red bicycle
pedal hard and fast
never signal which way you are turning
swerve so sharply that the road bends for you

By...

You thought grocery stores were reliable. That the food industry, all that flashing steel and conveyor belts, blue-shirted men grumbling between sips of burnt coffee, could be trusted to produce a normal carton of eggs. That’s all you wanted. Twelve Grade A large eggs in a squeaky, pink styrofoam container. One dollar and 42 cents, plus tax. Simple. Or so you thought.

You were running late that morning. Unusually late. You must have pressed the wrong button on your alarm,...