Subjectivization of a Strip Mall

Xatherin Lizette Gonzalez


There is an area of a suburb where dust, gravel and cement stretch endless towards the interstate infinitesimally constructing the Spanish Colonial Revival. Gated communities divide an excavated plane. A child age six to seven rides in the backseat of Carmax merchandise.

Sixty seven avenues mourn motorcycle accidents. Sixty seven avenues tote plastic bags of gas station food. Sixty seven avenues sell frituritas. Sixty seven avenues recite Spanish vowels. Sixty seven avenues renovate franchise restaurants. Sixty seven avenues walk curly haired children skipping sixty seven avenues of sidewalk cracks. Sixty seven is only divisible by one, itself and intersections.

Sixten avenues are sixty seven licks of a listerine sheet flavored with sixty by seven one story single family homes with three bedrooms. The car is a moving glass panel gallery. It rains and the windows can’t be rolled down. The car window is stuck and has not been fixed as if to say No Tocar. Mami Como Se Llega A Ese Lado De La Calle sixty seven children ask overlooking a sewage canal. Se Llega Por Otra Calle and Algun Dia Te Llevo.