When the cars come,
Isabela squeezes against
the walls of the old city.
They zoom past,
sleek and shiny,
picking up dust from
medieval Arab,
Christian and Jewish
monuments.
She smells grit,
layers of past conquest.
She pulls on her
Labrador’s chain,
“Ven, Rafael.”
She picks up the
fresh, wet
dung.

When the self-driving cars come,
Agustina doesn’t flinch.
They won’t touch her.
All the dust from
medieval Arab,
Christian and Jewish
monuments
have been sucked up by
the city-wide purifier.
Printed glass covers stones,
the city, everything—
all considered
‘artifacts’.
She pulls the lever,
calling her
drone
to return.