A old, tired Mexican
In a denim work shirt
and faded torn jeans,
a dirty ball cap,
and a makeshift bandage
tied around his knee
Pedaling an unmarked ice cream cart
With a wobbly left front wheel
Up a hill
Slowly
Slowly
I watch him
What is in his cart?
The big white box
With the wobbly wheel
Tamales for the day laborers
Who line the road
Waiting to be picked up
By contractors
In their big shiny pickup trucks?
I hear the rattle of metal
Tools? His tools?
Or chains?
I watch him pedal
Up the hill
And away