Father and Son at the Mesilla Valley Drive-thru Bank

It’s a late Friday afternoon. The sky
is making that colossal pink gesture
that often precedes the dark.

The car in front of them finally pulls forward,
and the boy’s father feeds the zipped bag of money
to the open mouth of the building.

From behind the glass, the woman speaks
into a long, thin microphone. She’s so close,
if it weren’t for the glass, she could lean over

and touch the roof of the car.
“This will only take a moment,” she says,
smiling broadly.

Then, as if she’d disappeared entirely
from their view, she licks her thumb

and begins, without mercy, to count the bills.