Traveling west
within the confines
of a beat up Pontiac,
looking for myself
I stopped for gas

While at the pump
an elderly native woman
who sat on the porch
of the gas station
stared me down

An intense
and wounded

She raised an
earth colored
and motioned me over

Between taking drags
on her cigarette
she asked
“Who are you?”

My Name?

She spoke again
“No, who are you?
What is in your blood?”

I am part German,
and part Cherokee.

The old lady roared with laughter

“You cannot be part anything.
You either are
or you are not.
You are a

The old woman
then said something
in her native tongue
and walked away.

I went inside
and paid for the gas


1 Comment

Filed under American West, History, outlaw poetry, poetry

One response to “Gas

  1. Richard Carnal

    You either are you or you’re not.

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