Smiling as if I were a prime rib
The man — in flattened syllables — said
“Te-ha-cha-pi” as though I would know
What he meant by such a thing.
“I saw you in Tehachapi.
Man, you was in jail!” he laughed.
I gazed into his scar and wondered
How many more of me there were.
Inside my van, Interstate-bound
To a safehouse in South Phoenix
He picked up a book by Heidegger.
“Escritura Basica” he said.
So for a couple hours we spoke
Of dasein and the ding-an-sich
While we quietly prayed the migra
Were distracted with mere presence.
©2014 Bill LaBrie