Thanks for the directions when
I had to turn around at the road block
where a car was turned on its top.

I noticed your holster bolstered on your hip,
your wife beater and boots, but mostly
I noticed your tattoos.

And although you were polite, our
interaction minimal, I knew
I couldn’t trust you, not really.

Not for any more than those directions.
I could tell you felt big going down the line of
cars to let them know the wait would be long

and to route us all around.
Take the old road, you said, and I imagine
that’s how you feel about a lot of things.