Waiting for a chicken leg to broil
I near the end of a chapter of Eco’s book
The Name of the Rose.
In my pocket is a timer ticking off the seconds
And I feel, prematurely, the sound and the vibration
Of the timer against my thigh.
I begin to fear the timer’s end, its ineluctable birth.
In the meantime I put down The Name of the Rose
I close its covers
And look out the black windows.
It is night.
A car passes before my house
And rounds a corner, its crimson brake lights
Glowing in the dark like a pair of eyes.
The timer hits me
And blinking I cannot see
The brake lights
Any longer.
The son of Mexican immigrants, Ulyses Razo is a recent graduate from the University of Washington, Seattle. He writes poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction, film criticism, and is a translator of Spanish language prose and poetry. His work can be found in Voices, Capillaries, Bricolage, and Phi. He currently resides in the state of Washington.
