Going South on I-35
Sebastian H. Paramo
When on a long drive to Austin
she insists on driving your father's pick-up 
	
because in New Jersey they don't have roads like this, 
she's never driven—

not like this where you catch her 
looking longing at the grasslands

expanding—cows grazing underneath 
billboards for the lost 

Czech bakeries—a pit stop where even 
the parking lots seems like fields

making someone like her appear 
almost regal, almost defiant 

in spite of the nature of cars 
whizzing toward other cities—

skipping the small rural towns 
inbetween & again she's caught 

in the throes of another photograph 
Instagrammed. In the hotel room, she'll say 

we should turn off 
our phones. We should really 

get to know each other,
ask someone where that hole-in-the wall is.
Sebastian H. Paramo's poems have appeared in upstreet, The North American Review, Tampa Review Online, The McNeese Review, and other fine publications. He holds an MFA from Sarah Lawrence College and serves as the editor-in-chief for the online journal, The Boiler. He has received a grant from the Vermont Studio Center and currently teaches creative writing for community organizations in Dallas.


more by Sebastian H. Paramo:
The Stranger on Burnside Ave.
Do Not Resuscitate