by Steve Kowit
The California tuna fisherman
who bought my van in Puntarenas
had a son who'd been killed in the war.
I remember sitting in the heat & listening.
He was a bald guy with a bulbous nose,
& a talker. He made his
wife bring in Mike's photo.
Then he started in on the Chinese,
how they were going to take over the world.
"William, don't... please...
no one's interested..."
The coffee cup rattled in her fingers.
Afterwards we bussed back along the coast road,
a thick fog rolling in off the Pacific
like a Sung scroll:
small boats disappearing into the mist.