looking for a picture of a wall
of course I came across: you
in your most immanent
young you but with familiar
eyes like a fish tank or measuring cup

and I was a gauger of levels
(considered myself an expert)
when the dashboard already said, you
are going too fast, like your dream
and I said, I think that’s the pot

calling the kettle black, when how it went
gauged by the sheets and towels
and pillow cases, but still
I carried the tray with foil
and bag of salsa roja, back

to you; the tacos they were machacha
which of course meant crushed.