The Cannon on the Hood of My Father’s Car
by Martín Espada
Nov 05, 2020
1 minute
Illustration by Kat Morgan
The football coach taught Driver’s Ed. He would hear a siren pass and say: . He meant me. I mowed down the rubber cones as if they marched at me, an orange army invading from an orange planet. My head snapped with every curb I hit, a speed bag for the fist I never saw.
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