preparing for malaria in glendale

The pharmacist says, I wish I were going to Singapore, Malaysia.
Her accent says she’s already left Somewhere
for these wrinkled foothills.
Hands me Lariam in an amber bottle,
the promise of strange dreams.
The other woman waiting
says, Where are you going?
Black cat tails of eyeliner over each lid.
Bring an extra suitcase.
The shopping is so good.
Handcrafted.
I’m moving to Dubai soon.
Actually.

I freefall from Glendale, seeing downtown
out the wrong window, dismount on Hoover,
and Pete’s Burgers catches me.
98 Cents and Up, Ragazzi Room,
Arco and archaic architecture.
Sigh of recognition.
But I’m already wearing my traveler’s glasses:
This is shabby, this is
poor-enough-to-be-dangerous.
To someone.

Novel-girl in the dark, on the lookout
for the eye-ends of question marks.
Flush toilet could suck you in
worse than the Carolina forest.
New-danger and old-safe
can look so similar.