February 24, 2020The White Man’s Wife Will Bear Him Triplets
The white man approaches my yard sale
the switchblade key to his Lexus in hand
he inquires about a lemongrass candle
his wife might like before losing focus
he thumbs my records with a furrowed brow
looking for someone he knows personally
when he sees the Kokopelli keychain
the white man’s eyes start to water
he holds his belly pregnant with laughter
crying at the clouds, his stubble upturned
I shift my weight expressionless
the white man wheezes harder
dabbing the corners of his dull blue eyes
he looks over his shoulder into the ’90s
when he filled out cable-knit sweaters
emblazoned with bright Greek letters;
when he had beer for breakfast
and an incipient case of the clap
always, the last to cough as his iron lungs
braved the ceremonial passing of his bong
with easy grace, the white man rips
a five-dollar bill from his pants pocket
interrupts me when I ask if he knows of Kokopelli
No, he lifts his palm, lips curling, I don’t need change
from #66 - Winter 2019