Confession. Yesterday, this happened.

Sitting on the patio

Chatting with a friend

Sun is shining

Breeze is cooling

Shohei’s on the mend

Then

Sandy’s voice, a clarion,

strong and clear and righteous

“Surely you know that Mexicans don’t work unless they’re hungry. They get paid and don’t show up again until  they run out of money”

Sun still shining

Breeze still cooling

Streaky clouds above

Then

Silently I swallow

Staring straight ahead

Alas, I utter not a sound

I guess the fight in me is dead.