Saturday, July 14, 2007


He seems like
A nice guy
The type that
Is trying to do
His job

I couldn’t spot
A pistol
On him
Perhaps he
Was wearing
An ankle holster

I find them good
For disguise
But impractical
In the field

Maybe he had
An AK—47
In his beat up
VW bug

But he was closer
To my threshold
And further away
From his
Pictographic beetle

I was tempted
To ask him
To enter

Perhaps he smelled
My intentions
So we talked
On the outside

I saw
A Mexican sun
A summer of
The 7th month
Tattooed in
His eyes

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